


Inquisitor Nessa

by Respitini



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alienages (Dragon Age), Andrastianism (Dragon Age), City Elf (Dragon Age) Origin, City Elf Culture and Customs, City Elf Inquisitor, Elf/Human Relationship(s), F/F, POV Inquisitor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2020-07-28 09:47:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 50,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20062009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Respitini/pseuds/Respitini
Summary: Hi Dragon Age fandom! This is my first Dragon Age piece, I’ve been working on it for a while, and I’m finally ready to migrate it from FF Dot Net to AO Three. There’s a world-state in mind, but hopefully it will make itself clear as the story goes along. If you've never met her before, the protagonist is actually not an Original Character; she's a minor NPC from the City Elf Origin in DA:O. City Elves are my favorite, and I'm still a bit disappointed that I can't play as one in DA:I. So this is my little effort to remedy that. Please enjoy!





	1. Prologue and Chapter One: What's Going On Here?

**Author's Note:**

> Hi Dragon Age fandom! This is my first Dragon Age piece, I’ve been working on it for a while, and I’m finally ready to migrate it from FF Dot Net to AO Three. There’s a world-state in mind, but hopefully it will make itself clear as the story goes along. If you've never met her before, the protagonist is actually not an Original Character; she's a minor NPC from the City Elf Origin in DA:O. City Elves are my favorite, and I'm still a bit disappointed that I can't play as one in DA:I. So this is my little effort to remedy that. Please enjoy!

Inquisitor Nessa: Prologue

I won't say life was wonderful after the Blight, but when the Hero of Ferelden calls your alienage home, relations with the shems are a bit more easy-going than they would be otherwise. Kallian and I grew up together, of course. Well, she was a few years older than me, and – Okay. I knew her peripherally at best, but she gave my family and I her wedding money on the day the Arl's son came through, so we didn't have to find servant positions with the army at Ostagar. And she saved most of the alienage from the Tevinters who tried to convince us there was a plague of some sorts but were really rounding us up to be sold into slavery. Most of the alienage – she saved my uncle, but my dad, well... But she did save the whole world from the Blight, which is why she's called the "Hero of Ferelden." Because she's a hero.

"A bit more easy-going" is a funny thing for an alienage elf. After the blight, Shianni was made "Bann of the Alienage," in addition to Elder, and was given real power to make some changes. That shop that my parents set up with Kallian's 10 silver? Mum and I moved it to the Market in 9:31. Did pretty well for ourselves, too, until the shems decided they'd had quite enough of that and put the torch to it. That was in 9:37, when I was 22. The landlord was kind enough not to charge us for the damage. Kallian had long moved on, as her girlfriend had been made Left Hand of the Divine, and she wanted to roam Thedas looking for a cure to the Calling. With no Kallian around, Shianni's title became more and more ceremonial.

So, it was back to the alienage for us. The Chantry sisters, always looking for more converts among those of us with more angular features, provided a good deal of the coin that comes into the alienage by way of wages. I was hired on as a maidservant to Revered Mother Perpetua, and she brought me with her when she was promoted to Grand Cleric after the last one – E something, I think – finally keeled over. To ask the other servants, you'd think I'd been given the keys to the Golden City. Honestly, I really don't care if it's a Grand Cleric's or a lay sister's ass you're wiping, they all stink. But there I was in 9:41, Maidservant to the Grand Cleric, setting out on the North Road to attend the Divine Conclave, riding clear across Ferelden along the Waking Sea, through bandits, the occasional Darkspawn, and Mages and Templars trying to kill each other. Now, I'd always been pretty handy with a knife – you kind of have to be if you grow up in the Denerim Alienage getting into some of the trouble I got into – but I wasn't sure I'd have wanted to be taking on Hurlocks or Templars if it came down to it. Good thing the archers we'd hired kept things uneventful.

Haven was an absolute madhouse when we got there. Sisters and mothers and clerics of all manners of grandeur were being shuffled about from house to house, with the bulk of the servants and other assorted knife-ears staying in tents. Tents. In the Frostback fucking Mountains. Grand Clerics, however, had room for their servants indoors, so I was toasty warm and well fed. Not a bad situation for a knife-ear who wiped ass for a living.

The first day of the Conclave was when it all went down. I noticed Perpetua had left her prayer book in her chambers while I was tidying up, so I ran up the mountain to the temple to give it to her. I knew the conclave itself was to be held in the inner sanctum where Kallian had found Andraste's ashes ten years prior. But the temple is huge, so I wandered around looking for whatever room they'd assigned Perpetua for praying or whatever. The next thing I know, there was this crazy dream where I was being chased by spiders, and this glowing woman reached her hand out to me to save me from them. Which led me to a dungeon in Haven, with my left hand on fire with some sickly green light, coming-to either going to get my face bashed in by Kallian’s shemlen girlfriend, who also happens to be the Left Hand of the Divine, or have my throat slit by her rather handsome partner. Either way, I wasn’t going to leave this world without getting one last dig at the shems. 

"I don't know what Kallian's told you, Sister, but not all of us knife-ears like it rough."

Chapter One: What’s Going On Here?

That smack did come, although it wasn't hard enough to do any real damage. Stung like a son of a bitch, though.

"Just where do you get off speaking to the Left Hand of the Divine that way, you insolent bitch?" Leliana asked. "And don't you dare speak of the Hero of Ferelden."

"Maybe if Kallian took some time to visit Val Royeaux more often, you'd learn to relax a little, sister." I replied, earning myself another smack on the face and a sword that began to draw a trickle of blood along my throat.

"One more joke, murderer," the dark-haired woman breathed into my ear. "Tell us one more joke, please. We can write a rather convincing confession on your behalf about how you couldn't live with what you've done." 

It was right there that I began to realize exactly how serious they were. First of all, Leliana was far too important a person to involve herself in a little sport knife-ear hunting. Plus, with her relationship with Kallian, that's probably not something she'd do, anyway. And this lady with the sword didn't seem the type to joke about anything. So, apparently, I was being accused of murder. And with this kind of interrogation, I could also assume that the murder in question was pretty high profile. 

"I didn't kill anyone," I said, adding a note of gravity to my tone. 

"Then explain this," the dark-haired woman said, grabbing my shackled left hand. 

"I can't."

"The Conclave is destroyed," she continued. "Everyone is dead. Except for you. You were the only one to survive the blast. If you value your pathetic life, elf, I suggest you start talking."

Well now. The entire hierarchy of the Chantry was destroyed, and some elven servant is the only survivor? Sword-lady was starting to sound like my best option. I've heard being stoned to death is pretty painful. 

"I'm not your murderer, lady," I quipped. "But from where I'm sitting, 500 dead shemlen sounds like a pretty fucking good start." 

Sword-lady let out a primal scream and drew her sword-arm back, while I closed my eyes and said a quick prayer to any deity that might have been listening at that moment. 

"Cassandra, no!" Leliana shouted, and that final blow never came. "We need her, remember? The apostate thinks she may be the answer to the breach."

"You're right," Cassandra answered, pulling me up by my shackles. "Come. We shall see if Solas is right about you."

A door opened, and light flooded into the room, hurting my eyes. I must have been out for quite a while, because my legs were nearly too weak to support me. Leliana took off for the "Forward Camp," while Cassandra led me through what could very well have been the stoning mob I'd worried about. 

"They need someone to blame," Cassandra said as the crowd grew louder. "But, for what it's worth, I believe you. There will be a trial. More than that, I cannot say. But I must apologize for my actions earlier. Justinia was a- a wonderful woman, and we have lost her to treachery."

"I didn't know that Good Guard and Bad Guard could be the same person," I muttered under my breath. Cassandra let out a frustrated groan. 

"But I might kill you anyway if you can't learn to keep your mouth shut." 

We were a few hundred yards past the mob when she removed the shackles from my wrists. Almost immediately the green glowing thing on my hand flared up, and I cried out in pain. 

"Andraste's tits! If the shackles were preventing that, maybe you could just leave them on." Cassandra looked at me, and for a moment I thought I saw some pity in her eyes. 

"That mark on your hand has been spreading for the last three days, as has the breach. We are headed to the Forward Camp. There is an elven apostate there, Solas, who believes this mark on your hand and the breach may be related, and that the mark may be the key to closing the breach entirely." 

"The breach?" I asked. Cassandra pointed to the sky. It looked like a cloud formation gone very, very wrong. And green. The same glowy algae green as the mark on my hand. Perhaps this Solas was on to something. I gulped nearly audibly.

"I'm guessing that's not just a pretty sunset."

"It is a hole in the veil. Demons are falling from rifts caused by this hole all over Ferelden and Orlais."

"I don't have much of a choice in helping here, do I?" I asked.

"I would think that even for you, a trial would be preferable to being mauled to death by a demon," Cassandra replied. And for the first time in years, there didn't seem to be an appropriate one-liner response.

We were crossing a bridge over a frozen river when I got my chance to see if this was true. There was an explosion. The bridge collapsed underneath us, and we tumbled onto the river. When I looked up, I saw a demon – a kind I would later know as a Terror Demon. And I'll be damned if it wasn't doing its job that afternoon. Cassandra, of course, was right on top of things. I bobbed and weaved for a bit until Cassandra had the demon's full attention, and then looked to make my escape. I thought for a split second about trying to escape the whole situation but running from every arm of Andrastrian martial service while dodging demons falling from the sky sounded like a bad idea, so I simply tried to stay out of the way of this demon, and hope Cassandra and her sword could take care of things. 

Now, I'd never been much of a Chantry type, but Divine Providence or no, what happened next was an inexplicable bit of good fortune. There had been a crate on the bridge, and this crate had cracked open. It was full of weapons – swords, shields, bows and arrows – hell, there was even a staff in there. I picked up two knives and tentatively walked towards the demon. It was bigger up close, and thinner. It was going to be hard to find a good stabbing point. I, on the other hand, was rather squishy, wearing nothing resembling armor but my thick winter coat and a smart mouth. Stabbing points all over the place. Or, from the demon's perspective, places to claw.

I dodged one swipe by the demon, rolling out of the way. Its ankle was free, and I got a good slice into what I hoped was a tendon. That leg buckled for a moment, and that gave Cassandra a chance to aim for its head while I jumped out of the way. She managed to get a good chunk of the arm it put up as a defensive move, and I took a swipe at what looked like its spine. The demon then whipped around towards me, flailing with its impossibly long talons. At one point it took a nick out of my coat right by my neck. But the demon's singlemindedness was its undoing, as Cassandra took another shot at decapitation, and this time, she didn't miss. Neither did the demon slime, which managed to splatter all over my clothes. I barely noticed, however. The creature was dead, and I wasn't, and that's what was important.

Cassandra, of course, was a veteran of many such fights, and wasn't really fazed by it all. Which is probably why she pointed her sword right at my heart about thirty seconds after lopping the demon's head off.

"Drop your weapons. Now."

She may or may not have seen my contributions to that little scuffle, but at that moment, it didn't matter. I put the knives down on the ice and held my hands up in surrender, hoping that she wouldn't kill me just for the fun of it.

"Yes. Of course," I said. "Putting the weapons down."

She took a moment, looked at me, and then surprised the hell out of me with her moment of rationality.

"No, you need them. You should be able to defend yourself in case we run into more demons."

"Wait – seriously?" I asked. "I mean, thank you. I'm not going anywhere, believe me."

"I know," she replied. "You did come willingly, mostly. And you seem like you know what you're doing. Just – be careful. We may need that mark on your hand, after all. And it probably will not work if you're dead."

I stared at her blankly for a moment, and she chuckled.

"You're not the only one who can make a joke, Nessa Ghilani."


	2. That Means Demons

It seemed as though demons were everywhere during that first part of the trek to the Forward Camp. We'd take down one, and two more would arrive in its wake. The wispy flying ones were the worst – they'd shoot these energy sapping bursts of something, and the only thing I could do to fight them was to rush them head on and take a swing, which was only slightly more effective than throwing rocks at them (which I actually wound up doing a couple of times.) I'd picked up some elfroot along the way, and Cassandra had a few healing draughts that she shared with me, but it was slow going, at best.

After we finished our trek over the frozen river, we scaled the bank, and I heard fighting ahead. This time there were multiple demons, and what sounded like a couple of soldiers, as well as at least one mage. Cassandra, of course, hurried right on up to help them, while I followed warily behind.

That's always been a thing with me. As things started to get bad in the Shemlen market square, I wound up picking up a few side jobs to bring a bit of gold into the house. These jobs weren't always exactly legal, and – oh, who am I kidding? I ran lyrium from suppliers to dealers. By 9:40 I’d been made liaison to the Carta, and had my own team of runners. Gorim was our main contact – every time you'd hear him say "Fine Dwarven Crafts," you knew he'd just gotten a new supply in from Old Tegrin. We'd go over to his stand (seriously, though. If you'd ever seen the crap he has at that stand, you'd know right away it's a front) and he'd have an "order" stuffed into a breastplate or a gauntlet or something. Anyway, those jobs didn't always go over well. Sometimes we'd get jumped for our goods; sometimes the dealer wouldn't have the gold, etc. So, I learned to be careful – never head right into a back alley, always poke your head around the corner and listen. And I learned how to handle myself in a scrap. But most importantly, I learned how to get into only as many scraps as I had to.

So, when I could hear the fighting from a couple hundred yards away, I knew I didn't want to go rushing in, armed or no. That's what people like Cassandra are for. I hid behind half a blown-out wall, watching the scene unfold. There were two soldiers, or guardsmen or something taking whacks at the wispy ones with the energy-sapping bombs. There was a dwarf with the baddest crossbow I'd ever seen in my life taking chunks out of demons here and there. There was this mage who was so elfy he looked like he slept in a _Vhenadahl_ every night. And there were no fewer than five shades, a terror demon, and three wispy things.

The dwarf was firing shot after shot, turning some shades into pincushions, but he wasn't watching his flanks, and had one on either side of him before he noticed. I came up behind one of them as quietly as I could, then jabbed both blades into its back, between where its shoulder blades would be. He got the other one just fine with a bolt between what passed for eyes. It took three harrowing minutes, but they were all gone. The elfy fellow then grabbed my left wrist and pointed the glowing thing on my hand toward the green crystally thing hanging about 20 feet in the air.

"Quickly!" he shouted. "Before more come through!"

I wasn't sure quite what to do, at first. Then I guess I pushed out with the glowing mark, and there was a jet of green light that went into the crystally thing and blew it up. I'd say it was magic, but it wasn't – at least not the way I'd been taught magic was. There was this tingling in my hand, and then it was almost as if the world stopped and it was just me and the rift. It left a bit of smoldering something that dropped to the ground, which Elfy McElf picked up and put into his pack.

"Well, I guess I'm some use to you people after all," I said, not wanting to crow, but also no longer willing to play the prisoner act. 

"Indeed," Elf-Guy said. "It seems that you are the key to our salvation." I couldn't help myself from laughing so hard that I snorted, which amused the dwarf to no end.

"She looks thrilled to hear that, Chuckles," he said, shaking his head. Then he extended his hand to me. "Varric Tethras is the name. This is Bianca," he continued, holding up his crossbow. "Thanks for covering my ass out there."

"No problem. We've been fighting demons all damn afternoon. I'm Nessa. No name for the blades or this glowy thing on my hand, though."

"You should probably work on that," Varric replied. "It will make explanations so much easier. 'What's that on your hand?' 'Oh, that? That's Herbie.' End of discussion."

"Herbie's not a very good name. A glowy thing like this needs something more majestic. Perhaps –"

"My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions," Elf-Guy piped up. "And that mark on your hand is –"

"That's nice," I replied. "Now, I think 'Madame du Greenlight' gives the mark the grandeur it deserves."

"You think it's Orlesian?" Varric asked.

"As bright and showy as this thing is? What else could it be?"

Cassandra rather conspicuously cleared her throat and nodded towards Solas, who was looking a bit put-out.

"Yes, well," Solas said. "Regardless of its name, I believe that mark on your hand will, given enough power, be able to close the Breach. Perhaps we should head to the forward camp to let the others know."

"I'm sure that can wait, Solas," Cassandra said. "Sister Nightingale certainly has nothing else to do right now than wait for us to finish being entertained by Varric Tethras's mighty wit."

"Oh, Seeker," Varric said. "You know full well that flattery will get you everywhere. Let's go."

"Where are you going?" Cassandra asked. "Your job here is finished, dwarf. You are free to go, and rather encouraged to do so."

"Come on, Seeker. Have you been in the valley lately? You need me. Your soldiers aren't in control anymore."

Cassandra grunted, shook her head, and headed off toward the forward camp.

"See? That wasn't so hard, was it?" Varric asked.

The forward camp was on an elevated section of the road we'd been following, blocked off by a door. On our side of the door, of course, was another fade rift. This one caught me by surprise, and I was just about in the middle of things by the time I realized I was surrounded by demons. It's amazing how quickly something like demons falling from the sky becomes old hat. But I managed to wound one, which bought me enough time to slip off into the shadows. And it was there I had a thought: maybe if I get the rift closed, the demons will just die or something, and we won't have to risk fighting them. So, I looked at the rift, pointed my hand at it, and imagined I was pushing that green light toward the center of it. At first it felt like I was on to something. The mark managed to connect with something inside the rift, just like when I'd closed the other one. But when it exploded, it didn't close. Rather, it shook the place, and the demons themselves looked like they'd been punched in the gut - one of them seemed to have keeled over, too. My little experiment made quicker work of the demons for the rest of them, and I was just about to close up the rift, when five more demons tumbled out of it.

"Well, shit," I mumbled, which gave Varric a chuckle.

"You'll be fine. Do that thing with the rift again - that should slow them down."

It took me a try or two, thanks to some obnoxious thing that actually shot ice at me, but I managed to slam the rift again. Of course, all the bobbing and weaving I did to avoid the ice-throwing demon and still get a good lock on the rift meant I didn't see a terror demon bounce out of the ground and right on top of me. He got a good jolt from the rift, but wasn't too hurt to take a chunk of flesh out of my arm with one of his talons. I howled in pain, and Cassandra came running right for me to fight the green spindly thing off. Varric threw me a healing draught, which got me back in the game to some degree, but mostly I tried to stay out of the way until it was time to close the rift. After the second wave of demons was dispatched, the rift closed just like they're supposed to.

"You're getting to be quite proficient at that," Solas said as I collapsed to the ground, clutching my injured arm. I simply stared at him blankly.

"I meant that as a compliment," he persisted. "I don't see why you need to be so disagreeable about things. If we are to seal these rifts or that Breach," he continued, "there should be at least some measure of collegiality between us."

"Fine," I sighed. "I'm Nessa, and this is Madame du Greenlight. The shoulder that was nearly taken off by a demon doesn't have a name."

"A pleasure," Solas replied.

"Good, so now what? There's a big hole in the sky that needs fixing, the Fade is shitting out demons, and my hand is the only thing that can fix it, right?"

Cassandra grunted loudly and pushed us forward.

"Enough," she said, walking between the three of us. Then she told the soldiers guarding the gate (who did fuck-all to help us with those demons, I might add) to open the gate and let us through.

We made it to Leliana, who was just about to introduce me to a man wearing a Chantry tunic, when that man ordered Cassandra to take me to Val Royeaux for execution. And if I didn't know I was safe before, I knew I was safe then. Varric and I couldn't help snickering as she ripped into that poor guy for a good five minutes reminding him of his place in the Chantry, the mission, and life itself. I took a moment to look at the Breach in the sky. There were really no words to describe such a thing except that it looked like the end of the world. Maybe the world needed ending. Maybe this is the Maker's way of telling the Shems that they screwed the whole thing up so badly that it was time to scrap what was left and try again. I doubt there were many Elves in many alienages who would disagree with that line of thinking. But just as I was thinking this all might be for the best, the mark on my hand flared up something awful, and I sank to my knees in pain.

"How do you think we should proceed?" Cassandra asked me as I struggled back to my feet.

"Excuse me? Were we talking about something?" I asked in return. "I wasn't really paying attention."

Cassandra, already agitated by the man who wanted her to run me to Orlais, looked at me as if she really was going to see if they could use my hand to close the Breach without it being attached to my body. Leliana put a hand on her shoulder and answered for her.

"We are trying to get to the Temple of Sacred Ashes," she said. "Or what's left of it. That is where the Breach is, and that is where the first, and largest, of the fade rifts sits. The Chancellor and I are afraid that a direct approach would have us all slaughtered by demons, and we believe a mountain pass would be a safer route. Cassandra is worried that going through the mountains will leave you stranded, like it did an earlier group of soldiers, who may not have survived the trip. She believes a frontal assault is our only hope. What do you think we should do?"

I laughed out loud. "Seriously? The Left Hand of the Divine and Fifth Blight hero, a Chantry Seeker, half a dozen soldiers, this shouty guy over here with the pencils, and you're asking some knife-ear who wipes a Grand Cleric's ass which way to go? You folks are in trouble if that's your decision-making process."

"Be that as it may," Leliana answered, unfazed by my observation, "you are the one we need to get to the Temple. Without you there, we have no hope at all."

"Okay, fine," I huffed. Then I turned to Varric.

"Hey, you got a copper?"

Varric snorted. "No copper, but I do have a silver. Here you go."

I tossed the coin into the air, caught it, and flipped it over on my wrist, where the coin lay sword-side-up.

"Over the mountain," I said, pocketing the silver.

"That easy?" Cassandra huffed. "You flip a coin and your decision is made? Good men and women may die down in that valley, and you would leave their fate to a flip of the coin? I know you dislike humans, probably for good reasons, but this? This is just callous."

"Anymore callous than leaving a serious military decision in the hands of someone unqualified to make it?" I asked, worked up into my own snit. "You want me to make this decision, clearing your own conscience of any consequences, and then laying the outcome on my head? I don't think so."

Cassandra sighed, had some words with the Chancellor, and we were off on the mountain path. Once Cassandra and Solas had gotten far enough ahead, Varric nudged me.

"You were going to pick this path anyway, weren't you?" he asked.

"Yeah," I admitted. "That was pretty much for show. I just didn't want to get blamed if it all goes tits up. Besides, rushing headlong into a battle never seemed like the smartest course of action, you know?"

"I getcha," he replied. "Now give me that silver back."

The trip over the mountain ridge wasn't terribly eventful, except that by this point I'd been in the Frostbacks a little under a week, and my feet had still not gotten used to the cold. A trip to Val Royeaux, while it certainly would've meant death by hanging (at best), would at least have had me go out with warm tootsies. But the cold rocks led us to cold, slippery ladders that ran 50 or 60 breezy feet up from the path, which was already a few hundred feet up from the valley. If ever there were a time not to have a fear of heights, this was it. The demons had either the courtesy or the good sense not to attack us on the ladders, but by the time we got into the mining complex, they were waiting for us. No rifts, but two wisps and three or four shades came at us as we made our way from one side of the tunnel to the other. We nearly tripped over three dead Shems as we were leaving the tunnel, but as Cassandra and Varric mentioned that they were part of the company we were trying to save, I let them get a bit ahead of me before ransacking their bodies for a few silver and a couple of pieces of sentimental jewelry.

Climbing back down the mountain is where we ran into another rift. The scouts who were there fighting must have at least gotten some whacks in, because there were only four demons to finish off before I could seal it up.

"Lady Cassandra!" one of the scouts called out.

"Lieutenant," Cassandra called back. "I am glad to see you still live."

"Same here, Seeker," the Lieutenant replied, "but it was a near thing. Those demons had us pinned back; they took more than a few of us. I don't know how you did it, but closing that rift probably saved our lives."

"I did not close the rift," Cassandra said, gesturing in my direction. "It was the Prisoner. She is the one who saved you."

The Lieutenant walked over toward me with a purposeful demeanor that had my hands get twitchy looking for my knives. But then she stopped, saluted, and bowed at the waist.

"I thank you, Mistress," she said. "You've saved many lives here today. May Andraste guide you."

It's tough when you're used to always having a quip at your disposal to be left completely taken unawares like that. But "have a Shem salute me and thank me for her life" just wasn't a possibility I'd ever planned for. So, I was left with mumbling a half-hearted "you're welcome," wished them well, and followed Cassandra down towards the Temple.

The temple itself was pretty much gone. There was the occasional wall that was only half crumbled, and a few items here and there that looked salvageable. But mostly it was a field of bodies burnt to a crisp, one of which had somehow used the person's body fat to create a candle effect. I turned my nose up and quickly walked past that horror show.

On the other end of that was Leliana, who'd brought with her a grip of archers, both human and elven. I made a noise of surprise at this, and Cassandra shot me one of the more obnoxiously smug smirks I'd ever seen.

"There it is," Solas said, pointing far up into the sky while we had a moment to pause. "The Breach."

"Think you can levitate me up there?" I asked. "That's a hell of a long way up." Solas chuckled, which was refreshingly unexpected.

"No need. If you look instead at the rift in front of us, you will see that it is larger than any we have faced so far. It was also the first to appear. If you seal it, you may seal the Breach itself."

"Seems easy enough," I said. "No demons pouring out of this one. "Let's get down there, and maybe they'll get me to Val Royeaux to have my head lopped off in time for the Wintersend festival. Can't beat a good knife-ear beheading for entertainment value."

We began the descent toward what must have been the foundation of the temple, when we started to see red stones – crystals of some sort – jutting out of the ground.

"Shit," Varric swore. "Seeker, do you know what this is? Red Lyrium. It's evil, I tell you. Evil. Don't touch it, don't go near it, hell, don't even look at it that long."

"Noted," I said. "Red rocks are evil."

"I'm not kidding," Varric replied. "This stuff turned the Knight Commander of Kirkwall into a statue. It drove my brother crazy, and furniture and shit was flying all over his house. Evil."

That got my attention, and I took his advice on the matter. To be honest, those stones were plenty creepy on their own without Varric's horror story.

We'd just about made it to the bottom when one of the deepest voices I'd ever heard boomed from the heavens.

"Keep the sacrifice still."

That was followed by an older Orlesian woman who cried out.

"Someone, help me!"

"That's Divine Justinia!" Cassandra shouted. Then there was another voice. Mine.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Voice-me asked.

"And that's your voice!" Cassandra exclaimed. "Justinia called out to you, but –"

That's when the voices turned into full-fledged visions. The deep voiced figure looked to be about eight feet of the ugliest constructed person-shaped-thing I'd ever seen. And Divine Justinia was suspended by her arms in midair, thrashing, trying to escape.

"Run while you can," vision-Justinia called out to me. "Warn them!"

The next thing I remember hearing was "Slay the elf," and mercifully that's when the vision cut out, leaving my slaying for another day.

"You were there!" Cassandra said. "Who was attacking? Who held the Most Holy prisoner?"

"I've already told you, I don't know. If I knew that, do you think we'd be here?"

"No, I –" And before she could finish her thought, I dropped to my knees as the mark flared up something horrible. Solas walked over to us, his face grim.

"I fear this rift has not properly sealed. The Prisoner must open it, and then she may seal it properly. Although I shudder to think what manner of being a rift this size will attract from the other side."

"That means demons!" Cassandra shouted. "Stand ready!"

Cassandra and Leliana were a blur of martial activity, as archers and swordsmen hustled to get into place. Varric stood next to me, while Solas positioned himself on the other side of the temple ruin.

"You ready for this?" Varric asked me.

I shook my head. "Not even close."

"Good," he replied. "The ones that feel ready for something like this are the ones who wind up dying. Don't die, kid. I like you."

The first honest smile I'd had in a long time blossomed on my face as I returned the sentiment.

"Don't you die, either, Varric"

Cassandra gave the signal, and I pushed into the rift with the mark. The good news is that only one demon tumbled out once it was opened. The bad news is that this thing was huge, armored with thick scales, and holding these ridiculous lightning whips that could mess up half our people in one blow. I could've sworn I heard it laugh when it landed, which really pissed me off. I snuck off into the shadows while Cassandra and some of the soldiers started to whack away at its knees – that's how big this thing was. Arrows were flying down from above, but not a one of them stuck, so I wound up dodging those, too. I finally saw an opening, but all my knife did was clank into the armor. Tried again – same thing. Meanwhile, Cassandra and the other folks in front were taking a heavy beating. Solas was doing his best to freeze the beast, but that just seemed to annoy it.

I saw the rift itself crackling and shifting, and my hand started to flare up, which reminded me of one trick I still had up my sleeve. I snuck back around to the front, took a position beside Solas, who put up a barrier around me, and tried to slam the rift, to see if that would hurt a demon this size. It did. I could see some of the arrows begin to stick, and the soldiers up front started to draw a little blood. I rushed around back of it to try to take a chunk out of its ankle, but I wasn't anywhere near careful enough, and I got smacked halfway across the temple by one of the lightning whips.

"Fuck!" I yelled, and grabbed one of the healing draughts. Cassandra seemed to be in pretty bad shape, too, so I tossed her one. I got to my destination behind the demon and got one good whack in before it stopped staggering. Once again, my blades were useless. I looked up at the rift and tried to connect, but it was kind of an amorphous blob at that point, so the mark had nothing to hold on to. But besides staggering the big demon, my slamming the rift did one thing – three shades had fallen from the sky and were attacking Solas. Gingerly, I stepped into the shadows and came up behind the one to his left, sinking my blades into its back and ripping downward. Solas got a good shot in with his staff on the one in front of him, but he took a claw to the face from the one to the right and fell to the ground. I leapt over Solas (well, really, I sprung off of his back) and onto the shade, getting some good slices into its face. Solas got to his feet, slammed his staff to the ground, and both shades hit the deck, giving us time to dispatch our opponents.

I pumped my fist in victory, but that was short-lived, as I saw Varric dealing with a couple of shades of his own. One of the soldiers was helping him, though, so I let that be. Our folks in the thick of it with the big demon were getting slaughtered, and the arrows were providing little cover. I looked at the rift and it was crystalline again. Here was our chance. I snuck underneath it, locked on, and began to push. But before I could really do any damage, I felt a power-sapping bomb hit me, which broke my concentration. I looked over, and there was one of those wispy things aiming for another shot at me.

"Shit!" I yelled. "Solas, take care of that for me. I've got to hit this rift." And without even a questioning word, he distracted it long enough for me to get a good rift-slam in. I ran back towards the big demon, stepping over one poor Shem who didn't make it. Then I saw Cassandra take a whip across the face, which knocked her to the ground, unconscious. I yelled out for her, and ran over, grabbing her by the collar of her armor and dragging her into the shadows.

"Cassandra! Cassandra!" I said, smacking her face lightly. She was breathing, but only barely coming around to consciousness. "Wake up. I've got you – here." I poured our second-to-last healing draught down her throat and sat with her until it took effect.

"Thank you, Ghilani," she said, rising to her feet. "Where are my weapons?"

"They were knocked out of your hands when you were injured. Let me get them for you." I tiptoed across over to where they lay, next to another fallen soldier, and dragged them back over to Cassandra. I would have to find out one day how she could wield such heavy equipment so easily.

"Are you sure you're able to get back in there?" I asked.

"Yes, I'm fine now, thanks to you. Go. There's still a battle to be won."

I let Cassandra run back into the fray, and took a moment longer in the shadows to catch my breath. The rift was ready for another hit, and the demon was struggling to stay on its feet, so I slammed the rift again, and the demon crumpled to the ground, dead, or whatever passes for dead with a demon. That left the rift ready to close, and I began to do so. But this rift, because it was so large, slammed shut with a force than knocked me ass over tits. I saw a green light that shot up into the sky towards the Breach, heard a loud cheer, and then everything went dark.


	3. With or Without Your Approval

Waking up in strange places was beginning to become a habit. At least this time I was in a bed, and not chained to the floor. Wait – not chained to the floor. Did this mean I was no longer a suspect? It was starting to seem that way. The cabin they had me in was nice; it looked to be one of the ones the clerics had shared before the Conclave, but with only one bed. I sat up gingerly, hungry as hell, when a young elf who'd just walked in squeaked and dropped what she was carrying.

"I didn't know you were awake, I swear," she said, timid as a Chantry mouse.

"It's alright," I replied. "What's your name, _lethallan_?"

"I – my name is not important, my lady," she replied, sinking to her knees and bowing to me. "I am but a humble servant, who asks your forgiveness, and your blessing."

I chuckled a little, until I realize she was serious.

"Get up and close the door," I told her, and she complied immediately. I sat up in the bed, made room for her, and told her to sit next to me.

"My name is Nessa," I said. "I am – or at least I was – the Grand Cleric of Denerim's chambermaid. I am certainly no one to be afraid of. Now, what's your name?"

"My name is Melora, my lady," she said, her voice shaking a little less. "I came from the Chantry in Gwaren, where I served Mother Beatrix, the Maker bless her soul."

"And your parents, are they still in Gwaren, or did they come up here with you?"

"Oh, I have no parents, my lady. I was raised in the Chantry from the time I was little." I'd seen a few stories like that during my time at the Denerim Chantry, and they were never happy ones. I put my arms around her and gave her a tight hug.

"I hope they treated you well. Now, what is all this about calling some knife-eared Chantry maid ‘My Lady?’"

"It's what they're saying out there. They say you've saved us all; that Blessed Andraste Herself sent you to us to save us from the Breach."

"Wait," I asked. "The shems, too?"

Melora giggled, which I was glad to hear. "Yes, the shems, too. They call you the Herald of Andraste." I looked at her and began to giggle, too. Then we both began to laugh ourselves silly.

"So, I'm going to go out there, and all these shems are going to start bowing to me or something?"

"Oh yes. They're all so grateful to you for saving us."

I snorted one last laugh, this time a bit more sarcastically. "Look, Melora. I didn't save anyone. This silly green thing on my hand did. Now, if a bunch of shems want to bow to me, that's just fine. You, however, will do no such thing, do you hear me? And no more of this "My Lady" or "Herald of Andraste" nonsense. My name is Nessa. Nessa Ghilani. Let the other elves know that if I hear any of them call me anything else, I'm going to bring Andraste Herself down here to scold them."

This brought a smile to Melora's face. "I'll do that, Nessa," she said. "Oh, and I'm supposed to let you know that Seeker Cassandra wants to see you right away in the Chantry." She gave me a hug and saw herself out of my cabin. I stood up and looked around, more than a bit bemused. There was a crowd assembled outside my door, very much like the one that greeted me on my way out of the prison. I straightened up as best I could, put a severe look on my face, and walked out of the cabin with my head held higher than it had ever been. And, just as Melora said, the shems either saluted me or bowed to me as I passed. I pressed my luck and tried imitating the waves I'd seen Queen Anora give as she walked through Denerim with her attendants – the shems ate it up. I actually heard one of them say that my waving at her was a sign that the Maker Himself had blessed her. There were many whispers of "That's her!" "That's the Herald!" "Andraste sent her to save us!" I managed to maintain a straight face until I was just about at the Chantry doors, when I chuckled just a bit and shook my head before continuing on in.

But once inside the Chantry, all of that braggadocio left quickly. The candles the Chantry uses to light its temples' dark halls have a particular smell, and once that hit my nose, I was the Grand Cleric's knife-ear chambermaid all over again. I could clearly hear Cassandra and the High Chancellor debate my fate from a room at the back of the hall, the one where the Revered Mothers and, when she's around, the Grand Cleric prepare themselves for worship. By the time I got to the door, all I could do was open it slowly and peek my head inside. Cassandra brusquely waved me in, before I heard the High Chancellor call for me to be chained and taken away. It wouldn't be the first time that happened to an elf.

"Disregard that," Cassandra said to the soldiers guarding the door. "And leave us."

By this point, I had had just about enough. I'd woken up in chains, for no reason. I'd been violently interrogated, for no reason. I'd been made to fight demons and Maker knows what else. I stopped the Breach from growing, which nearly cost me my life. Now I have a village full of shems bowing to me, and this clown still wants to arrest me?

"Would you people just make up your fucking minds?" I asked, getting right up into the Chancellor's face. "I've got a couple hundred shems out there who think I'm the second coming of Andraste, I've got two more shems in here who think I'm somehow going to save the world, and you think I'm a damned murderer. Lock me up already or get out of my face."

The Chancellor slapped me hard across my cheek. "You mouthy, knife-eared bitch," he said. "Don't you dare talk to the Grand Chancellor that way, or I'll have you in irons faster than you can pick a pocket."

I stood there, stone-faced, looking him right in the eyes. That was hardly the first time a shem had slapped me, and I had to make sure he knew I wasn't someone to be pushed around. To my great surprise, Leliana jumped to my defense nearly immediately, pulling me out of the way, so she could berate him for calling me that.

I was dumbfounded. Generally, even the "nice shems" would look away when someone in a position of power reminded us of our place. But as they continued to argue, it was becoming more and more clear that Chancellor Roderick had absolutely nothing to say about anything in that room, and that the mark on my hand was going to be the thing save us all.

And then Cassandra went off the rails completely.

"The Maker sent her to us in our hour of need."

"Sweet Andraste's tits," I exclaimed. "You really think I'm your savior; that this is all part of some grand plan by the Maker?"

"I don't know who you are or how you came to us," Cassandra answered. "But even you must see that you are exactly what we needed when we needed it."

Unfortunately for Roderick's sake, he had no idea when to shut up. He'd just about opened his mouth to rebut Cassandra's assertion when she slammed a book down nearly onto his fingers.

"You know what this is, Chancellor," she reminded him. "This is Divine Justinia's writ granting her Left and Right Hands the authority to act; to bring order to the chaos. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn."

"With no Chantry support," Roderick said, "how can you –"

"Anyone in the Chantry whose opinion mattered is dead," Cassandra interrupted, which seemed to give Roderick the clue he was missing. He turned on his heel and left, not even bothering to look back. Leliana and Cassandra took a moment to catch their breath, and as they did that, I sought out an opportunity to leave them to it. There was so much to figure out – obviously they were going to need me to close the Breach, however they intended to do that. But was I supposed to stay in the Frostbacks until they figured that out, or could I go back to Denerim? And if I did go back to Denerim, was I going to be a target or a hero? Or had word even gotten back there about the Conclave? And if I stayed in Haven, how would my mother support herself? I thought I'd probably be able to find a nice mug of Dwarven ale somewhere in the Frostbacks over which I could contemplate all of this, but was stopped on my way out the door.

"Please, stay." Cassandra said.

"I'm not your chosen one, Cassandra," I replied.

"Perhaps, perhaps not. But we do need you, regardless."

"You'll forgive me if the idea of a shemlen holy war doesn't exactly bolster my sense of duty."

Cassandra opened her mouth to answer me back, but Leliana stopped her.

"You do not have to stay if you do not wish to," she said. "But it will not be easy for you out there. Nor will it be easy for your people. Those here in Haven saw what you did at the temple, and they fervently believe you were sent from Andraste. But to many others, you are an elf who has gotten away with murder. And if the stories my Kallian has told me are true, then you know full well what the impact of that will be on alienages throughout Thedas."

"Again, this really isn't helping."

"I don't know if you were sent to us or not, either," Leliana continued. "But you have seen that others believe you were. And if they can believe that, so can many more people. The Inquisition could use this influence to build support in Thedas. And with the Inquisition's help, you can use this new status to your advantage, and the advantage of your people. I believe the young girl who attended to you earlier would agree, no?"

"How did you know about her?" I asked.

"Leliana is our spymaster," Cassandra replied. "She knows everything that goes on in this camp."

"Thank you, Cassandra," Leliana said, seeming a little put out. "You need not answer us now, Herald of Andraste. Take some time to mull it over. Perhaps you can have Flissa pour you a drink. But you have my word that if you decide to stay with the Inquisition, you will be protected. And respected."

"When was the last time you heard from Kallian?" I asked. "How is she?"

"I received a letter from my love this morning," Leliana answered, surprisingly matter-of-factly. "She sends her regards, and says that if she can spare the time, she would love to visit us here in Haven."

"When was the last time you saw her?"

"Shortly before we left Val Royeaux for the Conclave, Kallian visited me at the Grand Cathedral. She knew the Conclave would be a difficult time for us all and was the only one I told about Justinia's directive to restart the Inquisition. You know that she is looking for a way to stop the Calling; her current lead is in the very westernmost part of the Anderfels. Her visit gave me courage to see the Conclave through, whatever happened, and I like to think it gave her strength to make her own treacherous journey."

The stories of Sister Nightingale told in the Alienage were of a master of the Grand Game of Orlais, of a woman who could charm the pants off of, or the life out of, anyone she chose. She was a master manipulator; someone who knew what you wanted to hear even before you did. But something about the way she offered this very personal and possibly sensitive information so calmly and so readily led me to believe she was speaking earnestly. And, honestly, even if I did leave, where would I go?

"I will join you," I said, regretting each word as it left my mouth, "under one condition."

"Name it," Cassandra said.

"Bring my mother here from Denerim and set her up with a shop. She’s a good tailor, and while the latest Orlesian fashion is a bit out of reach for her, she makes sturdy clothing that will serve us all well out here in the ass-end of nowhere."

"Consider it done," Leliana said. "I will have her here within the month, and as soon as we can find a steady supply of cloth, we will set her up with a shop."

"Thank you. Now I think I will have that drink you mentioned."

I shook hands with each of these formidable women, and made my way through the Chantry hall, head held a bit higher than it had been. Before I reached the door, however, I heard Cassandra behind me calling out my name.

"Herald, please, wait a moment."

I stopped and turned around. She looked a little flustered, which on the face of the Right Hand of the Divine looked nothing if not endearing.

"I was hoping I might accompany you do the Tavern. I never have truly thanked you for saving my life in the temple that day. Your actions were, if you don't mind my saying so, heroic."

"You're welcome, Cassandra," I replied. "But it was nothing, honestly. I did what anyone would do in that situation."

Cassandra shook her head. "You have obviously not seen much battle, then. We would all like to think we would drop everything to save a fallen comrade, yet so often the will to live another day and see one's own family again comes first. But you acted without hesitation, not just to save a life, but to save a human's life. I may not know all that you have experienced at the hands of humans, but I do know that you don't think very highly of us, and –"

"Cassandra, really, it's fine," I said, trying to save her from further embarrassment. "I hope that as long as we're working together, that will always be my first instinct. However, I certainly wouldn't say no to a free drink."


	4. Andaran Atish'an

I didn't see too much of Cassandra for the next week or two after that. She and Leliana spent most of that time holed up in the Chantry, and sometimes the sky looked positively dark with letter-carrying crows. Cassandra took immediate charge of the refugees and volunteers who began to stream in, organizing them by trade or profession, setting up a militia, and putting together the infrastructure that would ensure Haven's inhabitants would be well fed and well defended while the Inquisition got on its feet. With the mark sufficiently calmed (although still very much present), and regular meals, and a roof over my head, those weeks were some of the easiest of my life. In retrospect, I'm very glad I had this time, as my life was about to get more complicated than I could ever have anticipated.

I spent most of my time with Varric. The dwarves I ran with back in Denerim all had a wicked sense of humor, and Varric was no different. He told me stories of his time in Kirkwall, and how the Mage Rebellion got started (although I didn't ask how much of his part in the story was true, and how much was added in for narrative's sake). His stories of the Merchants’ Guild were some of the best. Sure, there were politics in the alienage and the Chantry, especially an important one like Denerim's. But these dwarves were out for blood, often literally. Double-crossing was a capital offense, and also most surface dwarves' stock-in-trade. He didn't know much about the Carta in Ferelden, but from what he described of its work in the Free Marches, there was no way that Tegrin and Gorim weren't involved in all that. I wasn't about to tell him of my connection to the illicit lyrium industry, but he seemed to be the type of fellow who could figure something like that out, anyway.

As the shems got used to having The Herald of Andraste roaming the streets, the gasps of surprise and the spontaneous genuflecting began to happen less and less often. But they, along with Cassandra and Leliana, began to call me "Your Worship," which was both amusing and disconcerting. But still, I ate it up, nodding my head sagely in their direction, just like I'd seen the Grand Cleric do when she walked around the Market Square. The other elves and I would have a laugh about that in private. In public they maintained the same deference around me, but occasionally I'd wink or stick my tongue out at them while doing the sagely nodding thing.

The service-oriented Shems were a mixed bag. The quartermaster started on this tangent about how she thought the Traitor Loghain was the best commander of troops ever to grace Thedas. Now, I generally don't have any opinion whatsoever on Shemlen politics, but that man tried to have Kallian killed more than once. When I explained this to Threnn, she backed off a little, muttering something about "when needs must." Harritt, the smith, was positively cordial. He'd already had a stout leather duster, some gloves, and a decent pair of boots waiting for me. He took my measurements as well, and said he'd be happy to bang out some real armor, if they were able to get decent ore. Contrast that with Seggrit, who'd set up a weapons shop by the gates. He was surly, overpriced, and asked me if I could talk to some of "my kind" about being a bit more handy getting him his supplies. His position wasn't going to last long, if I had anything to say about it, and I was starting to believe I might.

The best-run setup in the whole town, however, was the tavern. Flissa, the tavern keeper and barmaid, was beside herself the first time I stopped by. "You're her!" she gushed. "You're the Herald of Andraste, come to save us all!" I tried not to laugh out loud, but she must have seen the amusement on my face. She never skimped on the pours, either with the ale or the whiskey, and her conversational skills were excellent. Plus, I'm certain she was giving me the "potential savior of the world discount."

The tavern's main attraction; however, was the bard who'd set up shop there. Maryden. She was skilled with the lute and had a voice that would put a nightingale to shame (no offence meant to Sister Leliana, of course). As lovely as her voice was, she was just as easy on the eyes. Flissa had probably caught me staring one too many times, because she took an entire evening to discuss the boyfriend Maryden lost during the blight, and the men who wound up falling in love with Maryden the Minstrel, rather than Ms. Halewell. I was disappointed, but I did take the hint. Didn't mean I spent any less time watching her sing.

My mini vacation ended much too abruptly one morning, when Melora was sent to let me know that Cassandra needed me in the Chantry. I wasn't sure why; Maker knows I'd only get in the way in their planning efforts, but if they needed me, I supposed I'd better show up.

"You seem to be adjusting to Haven quite well," Cassandra said, meeting me at the Chantry doors.

"I suppose people will be friendly if they think you've been sent to save them all," I replied. "Except Seggrit, of course."

"He has been selling his wares at that very location for nearly ten years," Cassandra said. "Removing him now would be a cruelty. Although he has been made quite aware that his treatment of elves will be monitored closely."

"That was – you didn't have to do that," I stammered.

"It was not done for you specifically, Your Worship. Not that I wouldn't have, it's just – I mean,"

"It's fine, Cassandra. I just hope someone put the fear of the Maker into him."

"Once we reminded him that Andraste's own Herald is elven, and that every blade he sold was pressed into Our Lady's service, I think he began to see reason."

I had a good chuckle at that before the mark gave me a little reminder that it was still around.

"I had hoped that with the breach sealed, the mark on your hand would have stabilized," Cassandra said, steadying me by my arm.

"For the most part, it has," I replied. "If you remember, I could barely stand when it flared up like that. This was the first time in days it’s come by to say hello. And it's barely a twinge compared to how it was."

"I am glad to hear it. We still believe that this mark is our best chance at closing the breach. Solas is of the opinion that by pouring enough energy through it – as much magical power as caused the breach in the first place – we should be able to seal it."

"If it's all the same to you, Cassandra, I'd rather sit that one out. Couldn't you guys just cut my arm off at the elbow and throw it at the sky?" Cassandra stopped in her tracks and looked at me darkly.

"Demons continue to pour out of rifts caused by this breach, terrorizing all of southern Thedas. I'm certain we will find the humor in that suggestion once this is no longer the case."

Chastened, I followed her through the Chantry nave and back toward the room where Cassandra and Leliana had dispatched Chancellor Roderick two weeks prior.

Elves are a pretty people, all things considered. Our bodies are lithe and graceful, our figures tend to run slim, because we usually don't have enough to eat, we work too hard to put on much weight, and our facial features are, well, there's a reason half the workers in the Pearl are elves. I was used to being around pretty. Humans generally aren't pretty. Humans are brutish, big, clumsy, and manage to run themselves either into or over just about everything they come near. So, when all of a sudden, I was in a room with three of simply the prettiest humans I had ever seen, I was a little taken aback. Leliana I had met before, and there's no doubt why Kallian would have fallen arse over tits for her. Even this new, broody Leliana was still a looker – perhaps more so. Commander Cullen was a deadly concoction of a body that seemed to have been crafted specifically to wear armor, eyes that cried out "this man has seen some shit," and just an absolutely amazing head of blonde hair. And Ambassador Josephine looked as if she didn't so much walk from place to place but rather floated on a pillow of lilac-perfumed air, all the while being attended to by four hummingbirds, two of which did nothing but keep that spectacularly crafted bun at the back of her head in perfect arrangement at all times.

Cullen introduced himself by lamenting the size of his army, which, in retrospect, could have been rather funny. Josephine, on the other hand, made an immediate impression with her linguistic skills.

"_Andaran atish'an_," she said, looking supremely proud that she'd managed to pronounce the Elvish correctly.

"_Ma serannas_," I replied, and she looked as pleased as punch. But when I continued with "_Ir abelas, ar tel'dirth Elvhen_," her face fell.

"It's okay," I said, chuckling. "I simply apologized for not being able to speak Elvish." This got Leliana snickering, and I think I saw a smirk on Cullen's face, as well.

"But I do appreciate the effort."

That seemed to ameliorate Josephine's mood, as she flashed me a grateful smile. "You are very kind, Mistress Ghilani."

"Yes, well," Cassandra said, hoping to move the meeting along. "I believe we had been discussing Solas's idea that we pour more power through the mark on the Herald's hand."

"Wait," I interrupted. "You are actually going along with this 'Herald of Andraste' nonsense? All of you?"

"What the people crave more than ever right now is hope," Josephine replied. "If you can be a symbol of that hope, then those people will look to the Inquisition for help and guidance."

"I get that. But do you actually believe I was sent by Andraste Herself?'

There was a moment of silence, as the four of them looked at each other, hoping someone would answer first. Cassandra finally did.

"As I told you before, you were – and are – exactly what we need when we need it. Whether you were sent by Our Lady Redeemer is a question Chantry scholars will answer at another time. But I fervently hope that She would send us someone in this time of chaos. And I choose to believe that that someone is you."

"Do you all agree with her?" I asked.

Again, silence, but this time they were looking at me almost apologetically.

"Right. Just so we're clear, I think you're all out of your minds. But I'll go along with it, if for no other reason than having a bunch of shems call me 'Your Worship' is hysterical. Now, I believe we were discussing how to get more power through this thing on my hand. And with the mages and the Templars pretty much focused on nothing else than killing each other, that's going to be difficult."

"That is where you come in, Your Worship," Josephine replied. "You are better suited than anyone to recruit hearts and minds to our cause. Be a presence in Ferelden. Show that the Inquisition – and the Herald of Andraste – are the people's best hope of coming out of the chaos that surrounds them."

"To that end," continued Leliana, "we have arranged a meeting with a Chantry mother who has been attending to the needs of war refugees in the Hinterlands, just south of Redcliffe. Her support will be influential in expanding our reach beyond Haven."

"I thought we weren't exactly on the Chantry's good side," I replied. "Why would this mother help us?"

"More than that," Josephine said. "The Chantry has declared you a heretic, all talk of your station as Herald of Andraste blasphemy, and officially denounced the Inquisition for harboring you."

"Well, I guess if Roderick couldn't chain me up and bring me back to Val Royeaux, he was still going to find a way to make my life difficult."

"Quite." Cassandra said. "This is why I will be accompanying you to the Hinterlands. I suggest Solas comes along with us as well, in case we run into more fade rifts."

"Well, if he's coming," I replied, "then I'm definitely going to need Varric along with us. Solas with nothing counteracting all that seriousness might just have us die of boredom, rather than a Templar's sword."

"If you must," Cassandra grunted. "When would you like to leave?"

"I said I would join your Inquisition if you brought my mother up here. We'll leave a couple of days after she arrives."


	5. Crossroads

"What do you mean 'there's been a delay'?" I screamed. "Don't we have people for this sort of thing? You have scouts! Did you send your scouts?"

"Of course we sent our scouts," Leliana replied, more than a bit exasperated at my outburst. "I said 'delayed,' not 'in danger.' The Inquisition isn't exactly welcome in Denerim at the moment, thanks to Chancellor Roderick, so I've called in a couple of favors, and the King's personal guard will be escorting your mother to Haven. They left five days ago, so they should only be another day or two. The original plan was to have her here yesterday."

"Oh. Well, I…" 

"I'll take that as an apology, then?"

I chuckled at myself, and then looked back at her. "Yes, I suppose it is. Thank you for calling in that favor, Leliana."

"Yes, well, that's quite alright. The King will see that it was worth it when the breach is sealed, no? Meanwhile, Josephine has secured space for her and a shop next to Harritt's forge."

"Thank you," I said again. "I thought she’d have to live in my cabin, and I only asked you to have someone escort them up here for her safety, but this? She will be so happy."

"You have already put your life on the line for this cause, Your Worship," Josephine replied. "And I am afraid you will most likely be required to do so again, if our scouts' reports of the situation in the Hinterlands are correct. Any small gesture such as this pales in comparison, I assure you."

I'm not sure if my mouth was actually open at that point, or if it just felt that way, but Josephine was kind enough to give me a way out of that conversation.

"Would you care to see your mother’s accommodations, Mistress Ghilani?"

I nodded, and Josephine accompanied through the Chantry. We had just about made it out the door when we were stopped by a comical figure in a yellow and brown leather coat and matching… mask? Josephine gave me the most polite elbow to the ribs I'd ever received when she saw my reaction to his appearance. Had I caused an international incident by falling over myself laughing, however, it would have been the fake mustache on the bottom of the mask's fault, and no one would have blamed me for laughing at that, anyway.

"Marquis du Rellion, you honor us with your presence," Josephine began. The Marquis wasn't having any of her pleasantries, however.

"Lady Montilyet. We must speak about the Inquisition's continued use of Haven as its base of operation."

"Of course, Your Grace," Josephine answered. "The Herald and I were just about to take a walk through the village. Perhaps you would care to join us?"

"I should think not," the Marquis protested. "It is bad enough that you continue to remain on my lands. But that these lands should be used to house this upstart order, led by an elf, is something that simply cannot stand."

I wanted to say something – I really did. But there was really nothing to say at that moment. I knew the Chantry's rationale for launching the Exalted March on the Dales. And I knew that regardless of how much time had passed since then, fervent Andrastrians still somehow considered elves to be tainted with a connection to "heathenry." But this was so much easier to face as some old woman's chambermaid, instead of as the spiritual figurehead of, yes, an upstart religious order. Bouncing back and forth between "hey knife-ear" and "Your Worship" was exhausting.

Feeling myself far out of the notice of either the Marquis or the Ambassador, and not really up for any greetings or salutes or "Your Worships," I began to make my way through the shadows down to my original destination. The cabin itself looked nice from the outside, if a bit smaller than mine. Next to the cabin were two human laborers putting finishing touches on a market stand where Mum could sell her wares, once she had some to sell. I peeked inside the cabin, and two elven servants were putting a broom to the stone floor and cleaning out the hearth and the ironwork. I stopped in there and sat on the bed; immediately the girl sweeping the floor dropped her broom, and I think she stood at attention.

"Your Worship," she stammered. I shot her a withering look in response.

"I am nobody's worship, and especially not yours." I snarled, and then felt kind of bad when the poor girl looked as if she was going to burst into tears. The woman working on the hearth stopped what she was doing and walked over to the younger servant, putting a comforting arm around her.

"It's alright," she said. "_Nessa_ over there doesn't want any of us elves making a fuss over her, because we're all supposed to be the same."

"We are the same," I replied, standing. "I'm just a Chantry maid from Denerim with a thing on my hand, for fuck's sake."

"Right," the older servant mocked. "A Chantry maid from Denerim. Who has her own cabin, with walls. Who gets meals served to her at the tavern, and has the tavern keeper falling over herself to make sure everything's just so. Who sits in on the big meetings; the ones with the shems that try to forget we exist. Just another Chantry maid."

"I didn't ask for this," I shouted, holding up my hand. "I just – I don't know – it just happened, alright?"

"Yes, it did happen. And I don't know if it was Andraste marking you or Fen'Harel having a go at us all, but there it is. And whether you like it or not, Nessa, you are special. You want to help your people, do something good? Use that. Make it worth something. And for pity's sake, don't go pretending that you're still one of us. You're not, and you never will be again, and you can thank the Maker for that every night you've gone to bed not having had to take orders from any shemlen."

Chastened, I grumbled, and sat back down on the bed. Then I noticed the table in the corner hadn't yet been polished, so I picked up some wax and a rag and got to work.

"It's my mum’s house," I said, trying to stave off any grief I'd get for deigning to do some manual labor.

"It certainly is," the older servant replied. "And that's why we had to draw lots to see who got to clean it. Because you're special to us, too, Your Worship, whether or not you think so."

Mum showed up nearly exactly when Leliana said she would, accompanied by a rather resentful Royal Guard. Josephine greeted them personally, while two other shems followed behind the four of us, guiding the cart with her belongings to her new home. She was barely able to mumble a greeting from the shock of it all, which was probably exacerbated by the shiny new iron and leather armor Harritt had just finished the day before. After Josephine had left with a very sincere "if there's anything you need, don't hesitate to ask," we closed the door behind us, and the questions began. I told her as much as I remembered from the Conclave, about the breach, and how we got there, and gave her a quick rundown on my position in the Inquisition, and what the Inquisition expected of them.

"My daughter, the demon-slayer," Mum teased. "But I don't care if Andraste Herself commands it, I will not be calling you 'Your Worship,' is that clear, young lady?"

"Yes, mum," I said, feigning remorse.

"That's some fine armor. I suppose they're paying you better than the Chantry, then?"

"We haven't discussed payment, actually," I replied. "The smith made this for me, free of charge. He just asked that I scout around for some materials – some iron ore and a dozen nug skins. I'd scavenged a couple of sovereigns' worth of coins from the trip through the mines, and I've been eating on that. But I imagine more will come my way when we head out into the field tomorrow."

"You're going into the field? Tomorrow? But it's madness out there, with the mages and the Templars!" Mum said. "It's not safe! What are they thinking, sending an untrained girl out into a situation like that? Do you even know how to handle a blade?"

I couldn't help chuckling. "One of these days, Mum, I'll explain how the two of us were able to survive so long on a chambermaid's wages. For now, just know that I can more than take care of myself out there. Besides, this will give you a chance to get acclimated and get your shop set up. You'll be working with Threnn, the quartermaster, to get supplies. Harritt next door will introduce you. He's the smith I was talking about. And if any shem even looks at you twice, you let me know when I get back. Seriously."

Mum shook her head and gave me a tight squeeze before I left for the evening. But before I got to the door, she asked the question I'd been dreading all day.

"I don't want to seem ungrateful or anything, but why didn't you ask before you dragged me out of Denerim?"

I sighed and walked back towards her, sitting on the bed.

"First of all, because you're too proud to ask me to help you get out of that sh – er, that hell hole. Secondly, and more importantly, because it wouldn't be safe to leave you alone. Some shem would still think I killed the Divine, or hear a knife-ear is the Herald of Andraste or something, and decide to hurt her by hurting her mother. I couldn't have that. I wouldn't be able to save this Maker-forsaken world if I didn't know you were safe. So, I'm sorry, but I kind of had to."

"Of course, sweetheart," she replied, even though her face clearly said otherwise. "It's cold down here, but it is a lot nicer than the Alienage."

As planned, Cassandra, Varric, Solas, and I left the following morning to find Mother Giselle. The trip to the rendezvous point with the forward scouts in the Hinterlands took just three days by foot, even with Varric's dwarven legs holding us back a little. Unlike when we ran from the Forward Camp to the Temple of Sacred Ashes, we were in better shape for any trouble we might get into, be it from demons or skirmishing humans, having taken time to properly arm ourselves for such eventualities. And, with the immediate danger of a rapidly expanding breach behind us, we could take time to scout ahead for trouble, rather than simply run headlong into it. That became my job, and all four of us were perfectly happy with that arrangement. Not only was my ability to hide in plain sight useful, but I really wasn't terribly good company. Solas wasn't at all pleased that I didn't feel like having any elfy bonding moments, and I was still a bit too put out from my run-in with Josephine and the Marquis to spend any time talking to any shems, let alone nobles like Cassandra. Varric seemed to understand all this, and he stayed out of my way. When we camped in the evenings, I maintained an air of cool professionality, but I also made it perfectly clear that we were going to find where this priest was, get whatever information we could out of her, and head back to Haven.

I was a few hundred meters ahead of the others when I heard the fighting at the rendezvous point. I scouted a bit further ahead, off the path, scaled a tree, and saw three or four different mage/Templar skirmishes happening around the campsite, and what I could only guess were Inquisition scouts taking down belligerents on both sides to keep the camp safe. I ran back to let Cassandra know what was going on, and we double-timed it to lend a hand. But by the time we got there, things were very much under control. The lead scout, a young dwarven woman named Harding, was an ace sharpshooter with a bow, and was singlehandedly taking down the last four fighters as we arrived, each with well-placed arrows to the throat.

"Hell of a shot," I mumbled, mostly to myself, as she was putting her bow and quiver away.

"Thanks, Your Worship," she replied, and I looked up to see the single most disarming smile in recorded history. Everything else about her – from her furrowed brow, to her tailored armor, to the way her hair was pulled back in a tight bun, was business-like, almost severe. But when she wasn't slaughtering mages and Templars from a distance, her eyes twinkled, her smile beamed and her freckles danced. I found myself counting those freckles before Cassandra rather pointedly cleared her throat, and we got to business.

"Mother Giselle is in an area known as the Crossroads, about 10 kilometers northwest of here. There's been heavy fighting all around us, as you've seen, so please, be careful. The refugees are in pretty rough shape, as the war seems to follow them wherever they go. Corporal Vale is leading Inquisition efforts to protect and care for them."

We nodded and were just about to get back underway when she held my arm to stop me.

"Herald, I – er, we – wanted to say how proud we are to be doing this – working for the Inquisition, I mean. It's an honor, Your Worship."

"Um, thanks. We should get –"

"It's going to be dark by the time you get there," Harding insisted. "Maybe you should stay here for the night, get some food, and head out fresh in the morning."

"That is a good idea, Scout Harding," Cassandra said, dropping her pack in front of an open tent. "And if the fighting comes close to the camp again, you will have help holding it back."

And as the four of us were fast asleep twenty minutes after finishing our mutton stew, I'm glad there was no fighting to help with.

We headed out shortly after breakfast, filling up on healing draughts and field rations before we left. It was mid-morning by the time we got to the Crossroads, and the scene was chaotic. Small groups of mages and Templars were skirmishing all over the area, and nearly as many refugees were in the line of fire as combatants. My initial thought was to send the rest of the party back to the camp, sneak around the fighting as much as possible, find Mother Gisele, and get back to Haven. But then I looked up to see Inquisition soldiers thick in the fighting, and it was time to go to work. We moved in a tight formation, going from skirmish to skirmish, putting down mage and Templar alike, as they were both aiming for us. It was an efficient setup; Solas was keeping us safe with magical buffers, Varric was providing aerial cover, Cassandra was going headlong into the skirmishes, banging on the heavily-armed Templars, and I was taking down squishy mages who weren't watching their flanks. We were at it for hours. Nothing I'd ever done in Denerim had prepared me for this kind of sustained fighting, and I tired quickly a few times, before either finding a second wind or being provided one by Solas. I found myself picking my points of attack more carefully and watching out for Cassandra as she got more and more tired. Templar armor, while made of sturdy plates of steel, had gaps that would open up depending on how they moved. I began to be able to anticipate these gaps and get a good poke or two in that allowed Cassandra to drop a final blow. We'd dispatched dozens of mages and Templars before they realized that they should leave the Crossroads alone and scattered to the winds. I dropped to the ground panting, sweating, and sobbing with exhaustion and relief.

"The refugees should be safe now," Cassandra said, picking me up off the ground. "We have done well here."

"How are you still standing?" I asked. "You did everything that I did, except your sword is twice as heavy as my blades, you're carrying a shield, and your armor is fully metal, not mostly leather."

Cassandra's jaw dropped open for a second as she looked at me quizzically. "You have never been in such a battle before this, then?" she asked, and I shook my head. "Perhaps I should ask you the same question. It normally takes years of training and discipline before one is able to last this long in the fight. You are truly to be commended, Herald."

A little embarrassed, I looked down at my boots. "Mostly I was trying to stay alive and keep the mages and Templars distracted so that you could keep killing them." I said, and feeling a little woozy up on my feet, I sat back down. Varric handed me a skin of cool water which at that moment was the most wonderful thing in the world. Cassandra handed me a hunk of ram jerky and a flask of some sweet yellow syrupy stuff that sprung me right back to life. We waited for a few minutes to allow me to catch my breath, and then we were off.

Mother Giselle was tending to wounded Inquisition soldiers when we found her, comforting a young man who'd taken an arrow to the shoulder. We were announced, which caused a bit of a hubbub, and then the priest came to greet us. She was an older woman, with kindly eyes, and anyone who'd reached her age without at least being elevated to "Revered Mother" was certainly a pastor by vocation, rather than ambition. Priests like this would stop by the Denerim Chantry on occasion, and they were always the kindest. I heard of one such priest who swapped places with the servant she'd been assigned, giving her the plush bed and good food.

"You are the one they are calling 'The Herald of Andraste?'"

"You have to ask them," I answered. "I can't control what people say about me."

"We do not always have that luxury, my dear girl," she replied. "Sometimes the Maker asks us to assume a higher purpose and a higher station than –"

"Well, that should be easy; there aren't too many stations lower than the Alienage, are there? Sister Nightingale said you had some names for us?"

The priest looked a bit put out by my remarks, and nearly visibly shifted gears from pastor to co-conspirator.

"Yes, I have these names for Leliana, and I will go to Haven, once we are certain that the fighting in the Crossroads has subsided. Meanwhile, I will make a suggestion: I know those that have denounced both the Inquisition, and you specifically. Some are merely trying to increase their standing in the Chantry's politics; taking advantage of the loss of so many of our senior clergy. Some are frightened. Some simply do not know what to make of all this – they want to believe that Divine Justinia still has a hand in our lives, but the idea of an Inquisition like the one so many years ago is puzzling. Go to them. Show them you are no monster, no heretic. Show them that the Inquisition can be a force for good. Show them that you can be a force for good."

"You're joking, right?" I asked. "You want me to go to Val Royeaux and convince the Chantry that the Inquisition isn't heresy. Somehow I don't think I'll get close enough for them to even hear me."

"This is because you are an elf?"

"Of course it's because I'm an elf. An elf who happens to be the perfect scapegoat for the biggest tragedy to hit the Chantry in ages, in a city whose Alienage makes Denerim's look like an Antivan resort. And I'm supposed to walk up to them and –"

"And talk. Let them see who you are."

"Sure. I'm certain I'll get a lot of talking in. Look, I'm not here to argue, I'm here to ask you to give us the names of some clerics. You're going to bring them to Haven, and I thank you for that. We'll meet there, I'm sure."

"Of course, Your Worship," she replied, and I turned around and walked away, only half hoping the rest of the party was following. I got to the point where we'd entered the Crossroads area and began to walk back toward the camp to make our preparations to return to Haven when Cassandra stopped me.

"Herald, aren't we going to see Corporal Vale? These people need help."

"We've cleared out the mages and Templars, what more could he want?"

"Look around you, Herald," she replied. "See what condition these people are living in."

"Hungry, cold, living in filth? Looks like home to me," I quipped. "If you want to help them, go ahead. I'm pretty sure not a one of these shems would take the time piss on me if I were on fire, so I'm going to head back to Haven, now that our assignment is done. I'll see you when you get back."

If any of them tried to convince me further to help the shems in the Crossroads, I didn't hear. Walking back, I saw some mages and Templars battling in the woods, but I managed to slip into the shadows of the forest where I wouldn't be dragged into the fighting. Travelling by myself it only took an hour and a half to get back to the camp, and I wanted nothing more at that moment than a hot meal and a place to lie down.

"Herald, you're back, safe and sound," Scout Harding said, smiling. "Are the others far behind?"

"They're still in the Crossroads," I replied. "They wanted to stay and help the shems."

Scout Harding stared at me for a few moments and simply said "Oh." Then she gathered herself together and showed me where the food was and where I should bunk for the night.

I thought I'd sleep like the dead after all the fighting I'd done the day before but sleeping outside wasn't a skill one learned on the Denerim streets, so there I was, an hour or two before dawn, wide awake. My night vision wasn't the best, but the sky was clear, and the moon was just this side of full, so I figured I could get an early start. Scout Harding was on watch, hunched over a bowl of thin gruel, and she called me over.

"Why didn't you stay with the others, Your Worship?" she asked, dispensing any pretense of small talk.

"Why should I have? That wasn't what we were sent here to do. We were sent here to talk to Mother Giselle, that's it."

"But you saw the conditions down there," Harding replied. "It's awful. You could have helped them."

"I don't owe them anything," I said, trying hard to keep my voice down so as not to wake the rest of the camp. "Do you really think any of those shems would lift a finger to help me if they saw me living in conditions like that? No, don't answer. That's not a hypothetical question for me; it's what I've seen. There are parts of the Alienage where I'm from that look just like that, and we've never even seen so much as a poor box donation. Those shems wouldn't think twice about a knife-ear like me without this green thing on my hand, so by Andraste's left tit, why should I care about them?"

"You really don't get it, do you, Your Worship?" Harding asked.

"What don't I get?"

"Any of this. What we're doing here. What I'm doing here. It's not about the humans at all. And it's certainly not about you. I mean, look. I'm Andrastrian, at least as much as any dwarf is. You won't see me in the Chantry too often, and I don't even think we have a copy of the Chant of Light at home, but I believe in the Maker, and I believe in Andraste. And when I heard about what you did at the temple, it all seemed to make sense. You may or may not believe you were sent to us, and I'm starting to think you don't. But I believe you were. And the rest of the scouts here do, too."

"You seriously believe that nonsense?" I asked.

"Yes, I do. I mean, it doesn't matter whether it's actually true or not. But you're here. And you have a job to do. And the idea that you were sent here and now is the only bit of hope this area has."

I started to walk back to my tent, but Scout Harding wasn't quite done talking yet.

"You know, I grew up in a village around here. On the surface. We had a little farm – nothing special – just enough to feed ourselves and sell a few odds and ends at the market. But we were the only dwarves in the village. And while we never had it anywhere near as bad as the elves, the humans weren't exactly warm and friendly to us, either. Some of those Fereldan boys, well, let's just say I learned to fight with weapons before most village girls ever had to. So Maker knows I'm not doing this for the humans, either. I'm doing this for the Inquisition. I'm doing this because there are demons falling out of the sky, mages and Templars are killing each other without looking to see who gets caught in the middle, the Chantry is in shambles, I just sent my parents to sodding Denerim for their own safety, and the Inquisition are the only ones who have said they're going to do anything about it, with the Divine's blessing, and with the Maker's help. And you're Andraste's herald. So, if you're not on our side, we really don't know if Andraste is on our side. And if She isn't on our side, then what are we doing here?"

"Of course I'm on our side," I protested. "I've told Leliana and Cassandra that I'd do whatever I can to help."

"Then why aren't you doing that, Your Worship? Why aren't you showing those humans down there that the Inquisition is going to set this right? _Show_ them that Andraste is on our side, that we have the Maker's blessing. And show them that we can help. More than that, show those soldiers down there that they've done the right thing by fighting and dying for the Inquisition. They need to believe in you. I need to believe in you," she said, lightly grabbing my arm. "Show me that this is all worth it."

Maybe it was the hour of the morning, or maybe it was because she literally had moonlight dancing in her eyes as she was talking, but I couldn't say no. I couldn't say much of anything, actually. But when I put my pack and my weapons back down by my tent, she smiled at me, and I wanted to see more of that smile.

"Okay, so what now?" I asked.

"Now I send Corporal Vale a message that you are on your way, so he needs to track down Seeker Pentaghast and the others. Then you find Vale, he tells you which way to walk, and you go save the world. Simple enough?"

An honest smile appeared on my face for the first time since we left Haven.

"Then I suppose I'd best get started."


	6. I Was a Fool to Have Doubted You

It was still early morning by the time I got to Corporal Vale, who, blessedly, didn't look too put out that I'd headed back to the camp instead of helping the refugees. He informed me that Varric had done a great job of picking off some rams that afternoon, and that the three of them had left about an hour earlier, headed about a day's journey to the south to hunt down some cold weather supplies. I thanked him, and set out in that general direction, hoping they'd stayed along the main path.

About ten kilometers into my journey I began to see piles of freshly dispatched bandits. As corpses of Templars and mages began to show up along with the bandits, I knew I'd be catching up with my erstwhile traveling companions shortly, so I began to listen for sounds of fighting. Hearing Cassandra's clarion "Maker take you!" ring out through the hills, I took off at a dead sprint towards the action. Things seemed to be going well, so I looked to see how I could help. Solas was throwing up a barrier on Cassandra when he was flanked by a rogue coming out of the shadows. I rushed in as quickly as I could, both knives bared, took a leap at the man, and wound up face down in the dirt. Cassandra had literally pulled the bandit away from Solas with a chain and was relieving him of his head. Varric, who was surprisingly adept at using his crossbow in tight quarters, dispatched with his immediate opponent, and the skirmish was over. Cassandra spared half a glance in my direction before setting back off along the path with a huff.

"Changed your mind, kid?" Varric asked, helping me to my feet.

"Yeah, kinda," I answered, and began to strip the bandits for supplies.

"Glad to hear it. The Seeker might have a few things to say about it, but for what it's worth, I'm glad you're with us."

"Thanks, Varric," I replied, smiling to myself as I tossed a nicely-weighted coin purse into the air. Cassandra turned around at the sound, walked over to me, and slapped the purse out of my hand.

"That is not yours," she said, brooking no argument on the subject. I offered one anyway.

"It's not like she has any use for it! How am I supposed to survive without any coin?"

"Perhaps you should have considered that before you went back to camp in a snit. This woman was not your kill, and those are not your coins. Leave them."

"But shouldn't we take them back to Haven? I'm sure the –"

"Leave. Them."

I sighed, rolled my eyes, and followed her along the path.

Our assignment was fairly straightforward. We were to hunt down caches left behind by Mages hiding in the caves and forest, mark the location of those caches on a map, and hand that map to some kid named Whittle, who apparently used to nick blankets off of clotheslines in Gwaren. Whittle would then take a crew of refugees out with him and collect those caches, ostensibly staving off the cold weather for a bit. He had a vague idea where we could find them, and off we went. The first few were easy to find, barely hidden behind a hill or under a tree. One was in a cave, surrounded by red lyrium, which Varric was very grateful to have Cassandra smash into bits. Another was in a cave that was still in use. The owner of that cache didn't appreciate our putting it on the map, but we managed to convince him it was necessary. That last crossbow bolt in his eye seemed to seal the deal. The final cache was very well hidden, or at least it seemed that way, as by that point we had wandered all over Thedas, beat back no fewer than eighteen bandits, four Templars, and five Mages, and the sun was perilously close to the horizon. Solas put a light glow on his staff that allowed us to mark the location on the map. As late as it was, setting up anything like a camp was out of the question, so we simply looked for a place to wait out the night before heading back to the Crossroads.

Trudging along, Solas spotted torchlight, and at that point, we'd have fought even more bandits just to take their campsite, given the opportunity. As we got closer to the source of the light, it became evident that the torch was attached to the entryway of a small keep, and the thought of spending the night indoors quickened our pace. As we reached the gate, a guard greeted us, and asked us to wait to speak with the leader of the group that had holed up in there.

"My name is Speaker Anais," the leader said when she arrived. "And you are the Herald of Andraste? Is it true, then? The Maker has not told me."

"I don't know who told you wha – Ow!" Cassandra positively scowled at me after kicking my shin with her steel greaves.

"Oh, the Herald of _Andraste_? Yes. Yes, I am absolutely the Herald of Our Lady Herself," I answered, saving myself further injury.

"So, the rifts, then. They bend to your will?" Anais asked, as oblivious to what had gone on between Cassandra and me as only a cultist can be.

"Bend 'em, break 'em, seal 'em. I can do all that."

"We shall see, then," she replied. "There is a rift in a cave at the rear of this keep. Let us see, Herald, exactly how Our Lady has graced you."

"After we close it, would you mind if we stayed here tonight? We've been travelling all day, and –"

"If you are able to close it, you will have done us a great kindness. You would certainly be our guest."

I turned around to see if my companions were up to the task. They looked eager to get on with things, so I nodded to Anais, and she showed us where they kept their fade rift.

All in all, it was a fairly ordinary rift. The first wave had two Terror demons, and Cassandra and I had figured out their weaknesses four rifts ago. The second had another Terror demon, two wispy things, and the nasty flying thing that shot ice at us. Cassandra did her trick with the chain and dispatched the ice thing first. Solas and Varric handled the wisps, and I kept the Terror demon at bay until Cassandra had a chance to get a nice clean blow to its midsection. Once that was done, the mark took care of the rift itself, while Solas picked up whatever weird bits of demon he'd been collecting along the way.

A fairly ordinary rift… except for the applause we received once it had closed. Or, at least, I had received. Whatever. Regardless, Anais came to meet us as we walked out of the cave and into the keep itself.

"Makers tears," she said. "I was a fool to have doubted you."

"We can discuss that tomorrow. For now, we need a bath and a bed."

The following morning at breakfast, Cassandra jumped up from the table rather suddenly, grabbing an Elven mage by his shoulder and speaking with him in severe tones. I started to fidget in my seat, hoping I wouldn't have to witness some kind of Chantry/mage/elf/whatever incident, until Varric put a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

"It's alright, kid," he said. "The Seeker volunteered to find him, because he makes a potion that can help his mother's cough."

"Right. Of course," I stammered, feeling a little embarrassed for jumping to conclusions like that.

"You're really going to need to let that thing you have against humans go, you know. It's not going to help –"

"What is it with dwarves telling me what I should think about shems?" I said, raising my voice a little. "First Harding, and now you. You've never lived in an alienage, okay? You don't know what humans are capable of. They don't go into Kirkwall and pick a few dwarven women to rape or carry off into slavery, do they? They don't round you up and make you live in a slum. They don't call you, I don't know, braid-beard or something. You've never had a human check his pockets just because you passed next to him on the street."

"Hey, I didn't –"

"No, I don't suppose you did," I interrupted. By this time, I'd gathered a bit of an audience, so I cooled it a little.

"How about you not tell me how to feel, and I'll stop lecturing you on the subject. Deal?"

"Okay kid," Varric said. "I'll leave it alone."

"And that's another thing: stop calling me 'Kid.' I'm the fucking Herald of Andraste."

"She is correct, Varric," Cassandra said, having just sat back down at the table. "Her Worship should be addressed with the respect owed to one of her station."

"Yeah," Varric replied, nearly as annoyed as he was chastened. "I guess she should be."

After Varric grumbled his begrudging assent, we finished our breakfast in peace before making our goodbyes. I asked Speaker Anais to use her flock to spread word of the Inquisition, and bring more Fereldens to our cause, which actually got a smile out of Cassandra.

The trek back north to the Crossroads was quiet and business like. We had to deliver the map back to Whittle and pick up Mother Giselle at Harding's forward camp before heading back to Haven.

"Your Worship," Cassandra said, just as we were leaving an Inquisition way station to replenish some supplies. "You seem more comfortable today with your title. If this is the case, I am certainly happy for it."

"Yeah, I don't know," I replied. "It's just, you know, if that's the only way I'm going to get any respect, I figure I should play that card every once in a while."

"I understand completely," Cassandra replied.

"How could you possibly –"

"If I may, Herald," Cassandra interrupted. "I was in a similar situation myself once upon a time. As a young Seeker – as a young woman Seeker – the respect I received from my fellows was begrudging at best, and most often nonexistent. And being called to Her Holiness's Right Hand made me no older, and no less a woman in the eyes of the other Seekers. It would fall on me, more often than not, I'm afraid, to remind others that I, like everyone else in this world, deserve respect. Sad as it is, often the only way I was able to get this through was to pull rank."

"Yeah, but I never asked for this," I protested. "I don't want to be thought of as this holy person. I've seen holy people my whole life in Denerim, and that's not who I am."

"Do you honestly believe I asked to be the Right Hand of the Divine?"

"No, but when it was offered, you accepted that position."

"And this morning, Your Worship," Cassandra said, holding my wrist and facing me, "so did you."

"Yeah, but I –" I stammered. Cassandra merely cocked an eyebrow at me, waiting for her message to sink in.

"I don't even know what a Herald is," I said, finally. "It's not like they had those in the Chantry."

"Then it is up to you to make the position your own, as you see fit. And you have an entire village full of people who would trip over each other to help you do that."

"Okay, I get it," I huffed. "We should move out, anyway. I'd like to drop this off and get back to Harding as soon as possible."

"Very well, your worship."

We made much better time on the way back, not having to stop to kill as many bandits or parties of skirmishing mages and templars along our path. There were still two and a half hours of sunlight left by the time we reached Recruit Whittle and Corporal Vale, which would have given us just enough time to get to the forward camp before nightfall, except that there were twenty or so shems lined up in front of him, waiting to "join the Inquisition," whatever that meant. After a few of them began to display their 'martial prowess' for my approval, I pulled Vale aside.

"They're serious about this?" I asked him.

"They absolutely are," he replied. "I'm not sure how many of them know which end of the sword to hold, but they're all very serious about doing their part to close the breach. Of course, your coming through with the first meat many of them have seen in three weeks may have had something to do with it. As did taking time out of your journey to find Hyndel and send him back with his mother's tonic."

"Hyndel?" I asked. "You mean the –"

"The bright young man who was so handy with the potions before he got mixed up in that cult? That's him."

"Well, if these people want to help, we can always use them," I said. "Find a dozen or so that do know how to handle themselves in a fight and get them to keep the peace. I'll talk to the folks back at Haven about getting you an official Inquisition charter. Gear's a little scarce, but I'll see what I can do about that, too."

I wasn't sure if Vale was about to burst into tears or song, but he looked absolutely overcome when I offered this to him.

"Your Worship," he said, getting down on one knee and saluting me across his chest. "My sword will ever be in your service, and in the service of Our Blessed Lady."

I returned his salute and offered my hand to help him up, trying to look suitably reverent the whole time. I caught Cassandra's eye, and she was smirking and nodding in that infuriating manner I was growing accustomed to.

It had been dark for nearly two hours by the time we got to the forward camp, and I was grateful for the rest, having walked nearly 50 kilometers since morning. Vale had been good enough to send a crow ahead of us, so there were tents already stood up by the time we got there. Scout Harding made sure we got enough water so our muscle cramps wouldn't be as bad the next morning. Of course, she made extra-sure that the Herald got her share and then some, which became a problem about three hours before sunrise. Coming back out of the woods, I saw Harding on watch by the fire.

"Do you take all the overnight watches, Scout Harding?" I asked, taking a seat next to her.

"Do you always have trouble sleeping outdoors, Your Worship?" she answered back.

"You looked like you needed company," I replied. We sat in silence for a bit while she poked at the fire with a stick. I was about to get up when she put a hand on my arm to stop me.

"Vale mentioned in his note what you did down there, with the people who want to fight, I mean. He was over the moon about it. Normally his messages are three or four words long, but this time he almost didn't get it all on one page. You did something really great down there, Herald. You gave those people a purpose."

"I didn't do anything, really," I said. "Cassandra could just as easily have recruited Vale and his people."

"And I'm sure Vale would've been proud to help if she had," Harding replied. "But she didn't. You did. Listen to what he wrote: 'The Herald of Andraste asked me specifically to lead a group of fighters to keep the peace.' That's all you, Your Worship."

"I just – I mean, I…"

"I believe the words you're looking for are 'I'm glad I could help, and it's nice to see the refugees' spirits lifted," Harding said, with a smile so bright we barely needed the fire. I just stared at her face for a moment, barely registering that she'd finished talking.

"I'm not sure if it's my place to say this," she continued, "but I'm really proud of you. You could have easily walked right back to Haven yesterday, but you didn't. And instead, this happened."

I looked sheepishly at the ground, and then let go a huge yawn, which Harding giggled at, gently.

"This would've been much easier on horseback," I said, starting to make my way back towards my tent."

"Oh!" she said, probably a little loudly for that hour of the morning. "I know just the place for that!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Varric doesn't give everyone a nickname, after all.


	7. Ring Velvet

We spent the next couple of weeks in the Hinterlands, mostly reconnoitering for future needs. The battles between the Mages and Templars weren't ending any time soon, so it was going to be imperative to cut both groups at the knees. We thought collecting the horses from Master Dennet was going to be straightforward enough, but it took two days to get there, dodging (and not dodging) mage/Templar skirmishes, wolves, bandits, fade rifts, and, oh yes, bears. Plus, when we got there, we were told we had to fix every. damned. problem in that farming village before Dennet would even think about this "Halla Rider" (Seriously. He seriously called me that.) getting his horses. So that wasn't going to happen for a while, at least not until construction crews were finished building lookout towers. And while we were digging around all of that, we found evidence of some sort of illicit mining operation while clearing out a band of mercenaries holed up in an ancient fortress.

All that aside, Solas found a decent staff, and I must have scrounged up 50 gold just walking around. That area of Ferelden is also very rich in iron and drakestone, which, along with nugskin and ram leather was going to go a long way towards outfitting the now three dozen recruits that Corporal Vale was sending our way. Plus, the personal tension that had built up after my departure and sudden return dissipated.

"Did I do the right thing?" Cassandra asked me early one morning while Solas and Varric were still sleeping.

"What do you mean?"

"Declaring the Inquisition, breaking ties with the Chantry… it all seems a little sudden."

Cassandra looked genuinely vulnerable, sitting by the fire, so I scooted a little closer to her and tried to be of some comfort.

"Well, the mages and Templars were already tearing up Thedas, and then most of the Chantry leadership died and demons started falling from the sky. I'd say if there were any time for a big move, that was it."

"I suppose you're right," she replied. "In any case, there is no turning around now. And, if nothing else, I believe we are doing some good in this corner of Ferelden."

"The humans here seem genuinely grateful for our presence, so that's something."

Cassandra sighed at that, opened her mouth as if to say something in response, but looked away instead. Solas came by the fire, sat down, and sighed even more dramatically than Cassandra had.

"Surely by now we can make our way to Val Royeaux as the Chantry mother has suggested," he huffed, as if it weren't the 43rd time he'd made that suggestion in the past three days.

"Maker’s balls, Solas, if I hear you so much as think that question one more time…" I replied, getting up to pack away my things.

Walking back up the Frostbacks into Haven, my steps were lighter. I was honestly glad to get back "home," as we'd been calling it. I was anxious to see how Mum was getting along, how the other elves were faring without The Herald around, what Maryden was wearing… In fact, I was so looking forward to telling Commander Cullen about the recruits he could expect in the following weeks that I went to look for him straightaway after dropping off three bushels of elfroot and spindleweed at Adan's cabin. I didn't expect to be greeted by a near riot in front of the Chantry doors, however.

Mages and Templars were moving quickly from yelling in each other's faces to sword hilts being displayed prominently and sparks being brandished on fingertips. Accusations were being tossed around about the death of the Divine, and resentments built up over centuries were quickly boiling over. I had just walked toward the Chantry to see what all the commotion was about, when Cullen came out to quiet things down. The Templars snapped to attention at once, while the mages started to mutter amongst themselves before retreating to the corners.

Meanwhile, Chancellor Roderick came out of nowhere and starts cracking wise to Cullen, hoping to undermine his position and sow dissent among the rank-and-file. Cullen, being brand-fucking-new at this whole commanding thing – Oh, wait. That's right; he's not. So, rather than taking the Chancellor's bait, Cullen simply rolled his eyes and told everyone to get back to work in a distinctly commanding manner, leaving the Chancellor plenty of time to think of his next come-back.

Mum was adjusting nicely. Fabric was hard to come by at first, but she was also handy with leatherwork, so he could lend a hand in Harritt's shop, filling orders for the more flexible armor, like mine. As a bonus, Mum was able to add some embroidery, both functional, such as rank designation, and decorative, which did more for morale than I would have thought. She also took special requests for a bit of coin, and that had started to add up by the time we got back.

"Honestly," Mum said, after I pressed her for the dozenth time, "the Humans have been nothing but gracious. I’m paid a fair wage, they genuinely appreciate the job I’m doing, and I've got a bit of standing thanks to my divinely-touched daughter, you know. Things haven't looked this good for us since we had the shop in the Market, _lethallan_."

"Exactly," I replied. "And how long did that last? It looks like I'm going to be gone a lot doing Herald stuff, and I just don't want to come back to find –"

"To find what, dear? Harritt is right next door, both Leliana and Josephine have told me to let them know if I need anything often enough that I'm actually starting to believe it, and I’m also losing just enough coin at the weekly games of Wicked Grace to stay on the soldiers' good side."

"Mum!"

"I'm kidding about that last bit. But, please, you have a very important job now, sweetheart. You need to focus on that, and everything will take care of itself. Do you know how they were talking about you while you were in the Hinterlands? They really believe you're Her herald. That's a lot of responsibility. Plus, all the fighting you get up to. Oh, yes, I've heard some stories about you getting mixed up with the Templars and the mages."

"So, you're not worried about me out there anymore?" I asked

"Not terribly, no. I'm also not entirely sure I want to know how you got that good at killing people. Just make sure you come back to us, all right? Meanwhile, Josephine, Threnn and I have put together a list of fabrics we'd like you to pick up while you're in Val Royeaux. How exciting! You're going to Orlais!"

I remember the first time I left Denerim. I had just signed on with Gorim's team, and he had a little loyalty test for newcomers. I was sent in as "muscle," told that my partner wasn't going to be carrying any weapons for – reasons, I guess. So, I was escorting him and nearly 5000 sovereigns to Old Tegrin in the Hinterlands, where we would be picking up six kilos of processed lyrium, which had a street value of about twice that. Either the gold or the lyrium could have set me up for life, if I'd've just offed my partner, stolen the goods, and hightailed it out to the Anderfels or something. But I didn't do that, because I'm not that kind of person. I needed the job, and my parents would have been shit out of luck without me, and, really, murder just isn't my thing. Turns out that Gorim and Tegrin had some friends watching us the whole way, and I wouldn't have made it half a mile before being reduced to blood and guts that needed to be washed off some Fine Dwarven Crafts. But, all in all, that turned out pretty well. We did run into some bandits, and I was able to make them go away without too much violence, so Gorim's friends put in a good word for me, and I was given a nice bonus on top of what I was supposed to be paid for that job.

The trip to Val Royeaux was my first ever venture outside of Ferelden, and a hell of a lot more exciting than that trip to see Old Tegrin. It about a week and a half, all told. We trudged through the mountains down to Lake Calenhad, went north from there up to the Imperial Highway, over the border into Orlais, took the ferry at Lydes over the Shining Sea, and right into the self-styled Capital of the World. The fade rifts kept pretty much to themselves, but with the small retinue we'd brought along (two dozen soldiers; mostly Corporal Vale's recruits in shiny armor, mixed in with a few others who knew how to block with a shield), the three we ran into weren't much trouble. Primarily we camped, but an inn at Halamshiral and another one right outside of Val Royeaux helped keep us fresh for what I was certain wasn't going to be a pleasant conversation.

"We're going to need a plan for this, Cassandra," I said. It was long past midnight, and we were a 45-minute walk outside the Val Royeaux gates. Cassandra, of course, was asleep in the room she and I were sharing. Solas and Varric were in another, and the soldiers were camping in a nearby field, which I could see from our window.

Well, she had been asleep.

"Go to sleep, Herald. We'll make our plans in the morning."

"I'm serious, Cassandra. Look at them. Some of the boys in that group don't even shave yet. They have no idea what we're walking into here. It's great that we brought them along for show and all, but they need to scatter once shit gets real."

"We're here to talk. Nothing more."

"Well, we are, but the Chantry's not just going to let us walk up to the Grand Cathedral and say 'Hey, guys. How's it going?' There are still some Templars who have remained loyal and they're all right here in Val Royeaux. Real soldiers, not some kids in shiny suits."

Cassandra pushed the covers off her with a grunt, slid into some boots and a cloak, and walked downstairs, coming back with a bottle of well-aged Antivan port and two small glasses. She poured a healthy draught and slid it my way.

"Drink," she said, and I did. Then she refilled mine and poured another for herself.

"Your Worship, it is kind that you worry about those under your command. Please believe me when I tell you that it will all work out. You have fought Templars before and won, with inferior blades and no training. You are formidable on the field of battle, and your survival sense is peerless. Former Knight-Captain Rylen was in charge of training recruits in Starkhaven and knows what his soldiers can and cannot do. If events do not unfold peacefully, they will push, but he will not let his men be slaughtered. Varric's smart mouth and capable crossbow somehow kept him alive in Kirkwall through both the Qunari attack and the Mage rebellion, so I imagine we'll have the pleasure of his company back in Haven once this is over. And Solas seems to be a man who knows what he's doing. And if you're worried about me, well, don't be. If the Maker could see me through the attack on Divine Beatrix, I imagine he can guide my sword-arm through whatever the remaining Templars could throw at us."

"You're right, Cassandra," I allowed. "I'm just new at all of this, and –"

"And we all have to start somewhere. Remember, ‘_not alone do we stand on the field of battle_.’"

I snickered. "Apotheosis? Laying it on a bit thick, aren't we? I'm not Andraste, and this isn't Tevinter."

"That verse isn't just about actual battle. Andraste tells me that the Maker will stand with me on any field of battle, whether that battle is against men in the Dales of Orlais or against myself in my own soul.

"Besides, she lost her battle, but has become more glorious as the Bride of the Maker than she could have imagined the night before her Maferath's treachery. Go to sleep, Herald. You'll need your wits about you in the morning."

The next morning, we rose an hour or so after the sun, ate with the soldiers, and made our way into Val Royeaux, straight through the city gates, like any other visiting delegation. We had an appointment to speak at the Grand Cathedral, in front of as many clergywomen and local nobility as could (or would deign to) attend. We were to outline our plans for closing the breach and finding those responsible, answer questions about our claims to divine directive (Josephine told me to be honest, and for the life of me I couldn't figure out what that meant), and generally put minds at ease that we were a force for good, rather than for further chaos. Following this, Cassandra and I were to make a show of paying respects to the monument dedicated to Divine Justinia in the Sunburst Throne room, and then we would retire to the inn we had set up for the following weeks while we gathered supplies.

Things didn't quite work out that way.

Our route to the Grand Cathedral led us right through the Market Square, and as if it were orchestrated that way (it was orchestrated that way), a podium was erected just a hundred meters from the gallows, where there were two nooses hanging – one for an elf, and one for a human. The crowd in the market surrounded us, and Cassandra and I were separated from our compatriots – Varric and Solas included – and brought onto the podium for questioning. They didn't want to talk, but they also didn't want a battle in the streets. They wanted our necks.

Words were tossed around. Cassandra and I tried to stay to our script, but the de facto Grand Cleric would cut us off, play to the crowd, make racist comments about my heritage, and question Cassandra's sanity, using her fallacious arguments to 'prove' our guilt in the death of the Divine.

"All we want is to close the breach!" I would say.

"Does not your Andruil call you home through it?" they would mock. "Or does she even listen to you anymore, Herald of Andraste?"

"We were directed by Justinia before the Conclave even began," Cassandra would explain.

"You got a taste of power with Beatrix, and now you want to run everything!" they would deflect.

The crowd was getting more and more restless and bored. They were here for an execution, not a kangaroo court. Finally, the sounds of steel boots marching in time grew closer and closer. The de facto Grand Cleric got a sly smile on her face as she looked at me, then stepped to the front of the podium and addressed the crowd.

"Dear people of Val Royeaux, hear me! You have seen these pretenders for what they are – savage heretics and opportunistic usurpers. Today, the Chantry reclaims what was so violently ripped from us. Today, we avenge our sweet Justinia's death with the blood of the monsters responsible. Today, we restore order to Thedas, peace to –"

I winced as I saw a steel greave make contact with the cleric's face. She slumped to the deck, and an older man in armor stepped to the front of the podium to announce that the remaining Templars would no longer act under the authority of the Chantry, nor would they act as protectors of Val Royeaux. Then, just as suddenly as they came in, they marched off, Cassandra hot on their heels.

"Lord Seeker Lucius! Lord Seeker Lucius!" she yelled, but got nothing. He and his men continued to march until they were long out of sight, with Cassandra left behind, staring. The mob that had been calling for our execution just minutes earlier was dispersing, disheartened by the Templars' actions. Rylen positioned his men around the market, in case some decided to take matters into their own hands. I stepped over the cleric on the podium and found Varric and Solas. Cassandra joined us a few minutes later, obviously distressed.

"Did you know that man?" I asked. "That Lucius fellow?"

"I did," Cassandra replied. "At least I thought I did. But I don't understand anything of what I just saw. Lucius is a reasonable man. He was elected Lord Seeker specifically because he'd never do anything like – like that. This is very troubling. We should inform Leliana – perhaps her scouts have seen something."

"Meanwhile," I said, "It doesn't look like the Chantry is going to be very much use to anyone for the time being, let alone us. Let's just get some of those supplies we need – ask Rylen to send some of his friendlier recruits around to the shops. My mum will have my head if I don't come back with at least six bolts of this Ring Velvet."


	8. Friends

Denerim isn’t actually all that far south of Val Royeaux, as far as the map goes, but the climates are worlds apart. The air blowing in from the western deserts breaks up the fog that drifts up from the sea a few hours before noon each day, leaving a sparkling jewel of a city in its place. It’s not Antiva City, to be sure, but if I were going to set up an imperial capital that would last a thousand years or so, Val Royeaux would be as good a place as any to put it. I was enjoying a lovely walk around the market with a few of the elven scout recruits we had brought along. They were recent recruits, girls from the Redcliffe alienage, who’d signed up together once they heard the stories of our trip through the Hinterlands. Being the Herald of Andraste and all, I tried to play it off cool seeing some of the finery on display, but we arrived at a shop selling masks, and the peacock feathers and tiny pearls and rubies and gold inlay were just too much for our minds to handle. So, we got a little silly, putting on the masks, speaking in exaggerated Orlesian accents about “_Jambon de désespoir,_” and “_Fromage d’ennui_,” such that we’d certainly have been annoying some customers, if there had been any. Thankfully the girls I was with hadn’t picked up as much Orlesian as I had working in a larger Chantry, so when the shopkeeper muttered something about “_lapins putains_” under her breath, I was the only one who understood what she was implying. I made sure she saw the green mark on my hand as I shepherded the girls out of the shop, and was gratified to catch her face fall as she realized she’d never sell a single mask to the Inquisition.

The sea change that made that a big deal happened nearly overnight. Once the torches and pitchforks were safely stowed, the people of Val Royeaux needed something to entertain themselves with, and tales of the Herald of Andraste and her mysterious Inquisition fit the bill nicely. Two days later, Inquisition soldiers were being bought drinks and asked for stories, and I was eating free meals in restaurants that a month prior wouldn’t have hired me on as a waiter. In fact, had that shopkeeper not been such a racist bitch, I may have had a personalized Orlesian mask to take back to Haven with me, so she could tell patrons far and wide how she “hand-crafted this mask with the wild fervor that Our Lady’s herald demands.” Yeah, the whole “Mysterious Elven Herald” thing was certainly going to get old, quickly, but the free stuff was nice.

So, I shuffled the girls out of the shop and back out into the market square, looking for a stand that sold some of that fizzy apple drink that was all the rage, when I heard

“Nessa! Watch out!”

And was pulled to the ground by Fiona, one of the girls I was walking with, and immediately surrounded by a half-dozen Inquisition soldiers, who saw to my safety, got me back on my feet, and went looking for whoever had shot an arrow at me. I thanked everyone for their concern, took a look at the arrow, and called everyone back.

“It’s alright. We’re not under attack. It was just the Jennies trying to get our attention. Call off the mabari.”

The Friends of Red Jenny were, depending on the day, harmless distractions, free entertainment, or pains in the ass. That day they were somewhere between the first and third. The note attached to the arrow said there was a “baddie” near Val Royeaux somewhere who wanted to hurt me, and there was a short scavenger hunt laid out for me to find this “baddie,” and I was supposed to bring swords. I sighed, and brought the note back to the inn, leaving the girls to explore the market without me.

“It’s a group called ‘The Friends of Red Jenny,’” I said to Cassandra and Scout Harding, who I’d pulled into an impromptu meeting when I got back to the inn. “They’re harmless, honestly, but they’re the kind of harmless you really want on your side. The basic concept is that they network servants together who will pass on information about the people they work for. Most of the time they don’t need anything from the servant himself besides that bit of information: ‘Is this guy you work for a real prick?’ Once they get that, they do their thing, get a bit of coin to the servant, everyone’s happy. So, besides the local coordinators, no one who does any work for the Jennies would know that they did.”

Cassandra looked like her head was about to fall off from confusion. Harding seemed to get it, though.

“So, that this guy’s a ‘Baddie,’ that report came from one of his servants? Is that also how we know he’s looking to harm the Inquisition?” she asked.

“That would be my guess,” I replied. 

“So, we’re taking the word of some dishwasher that this ‘Baddie’ is worth our time?”

“And asking a Chantry chambermaid whether or not that’s a wise course of action, all in one meeting.”

“I’m- I’m so sorry, Your Worship. You’re absolutely right,” Harding stammered, and she just looked so ashamed of herself than I grabbed her hand across the table and squeezed it, giving her a fond smile.

“It’s okay, Harding, really. I mean, weren’t you a shepherd or a cattle hand or something two months ago? That’s not the first thing that comes to my mind when I read your reports, either. But they are the first reports Leliana looks at, because she knows the information she’s getting there is solid. So, take this chambermaid’s word for it – the Jennies know what they’re doing."

There was a nearly tangible silence as both Harding and Cassandra looked at each other to see who was going to ask the obvious question first. I gave them a moment or two before sparing them the embarrassment.

“Fine, since you won’t ask, I’ll tell you. There was once a lay brother who travelled around the Ferelden chantries doing some accounting work. Apparently, word had been getting that he was up to no good, so the Jennies asked me if I knew anything about it. I asked around, and it seemed he had an eye for teenaged elven girls, and was always asking if he could get the really young ones taking care of his room when he visited. I relayed this to the Jennies, and the following month we got a different accountant. I don’t know what happened to the creep, but I do know that little Nyla had quite the grin on her face when she received a package tied off with a red bow that held a human finger, and a note saying that nine other girls were receiving similar gifts.”

This seemed to calm Cassandra and Harding, and we decided to take the bait and go see exactly what kind of ‘baddie’ had a problem with the Inquisition. Harding still had some work to do for Leliana, so we decided to take our other sure-shot dwarf, plus Solas along for the trip.

The clues were easy enough to track, at least with Cassandra’s knowledge of the city. When we got to the last one, it led us to a villa a few kilometers northeast of town. We got there shortly after sundown, and were immediately accosted by a half-dozen guards, who truly had no business being guards for someone with aspirations of provoking the Inquisition into a fight. From there we walked through a gate into a courtyard, only to find some mage throwing fire spells and Orlesian swear words at us. Solas had just put a barrier up on the four of us when an arrow seemingly came out of nowhere, slamming into the mage’s eye socket, killing him instantly.

We rushed into the courtyard, looking for the sharpshooter, when I heard an all-too familiar voice call out to us.

“Oi, Inquisition. That was him. I’m coming down now, all friendly-like, yeah?”

I chuckled, and motioned to the others to stand down.

“Right,” she said. “Well, you follow the notes well enough. Glad to see you’re…”

“Hi, Sera,” I said.

If you ever see a Wicked Grace game and Sera’s at the table, jump in. I don’t think she’s ever had a thought in her life that hasn’t broadcast itself to the Maker and everyone five times before she got it out of her mouth. When she saw me, she was confused. Then, after screwing up her face a bit, she seemed to understand what was going on.

“Nessa? You join this thing, too, then? Where’s the Herald?”

I showed her the mark on my hand, and her face fell immediately.

“Oh, no. No no no no no. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be at all. The Inquisition’s supposed to save the world, right, and you’ve got Nessa bloody Ghilani as your Herald? Just-no.”

“Is there something wrong with the Herald?” Cassandra asked. Sera shot her a dumbfounded look.

“No, there’s nothing wrong with her, really,” she said. “But this hole in the sky, that’s – big. And she’s just, you know, Nessa. I mean, she’s the tits with a shiv, and she’s bloody fantastic in the sack and all, but – ugh.”

Did I mention she has no filter?

“Would you mind, er, giving us a moment?” I asked the others. They backed away slowly through the gate, Cassandra giving her best disapproving grunt, and Varric muttering something about “I’m sure there’s no story there or anything.” Once they were out of earshot, I rounded on Sera.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked. “Weren’t you supposed to be in Highever?”

“I was,” she said, “but the Jenny in Verchiel got up the duff and didn’t want to play no more, so I wound up in Orlais. Then the whole world goes to shite, I hear the Inquisition’s going to fix everything and they’re in Val Royeaux, so I run right over to meet them and it’s just, you know, you.”

“Yeah, it’s me. I didn’t ask for it, but here I am. Plus, the shems all call me “Your Worship” and shit, so it has its perks,” I replied

“Still bitter about the humans, then?”

“Still trying to get the shems to see you as Not That Kind of Elf?”

She glared at me for a moment or two, and, honestly, I glared back. We never really had anything together, she and I, the sex was more out of convenience than anything else. So, our tension was more professional than romantic. Finally, I smiled and opened my arms for a hug, which she happily accepted.

“It is good to see you, though,” she said. “You’re looking good – all that demon-fighting has you in shape. All muscly and herald-y. That’s a word, innit? Herald-y?”

Then there was a sound in the distance, and she got a worried look on her face.

“Shite! That’d be the reinforcements, then,” she stage-whispered.

“How many?”

“’bout a dozen or so. But I nicked their breeches.”

“Not their swords?”

“Wait’ll you see ‘em. No breeches!”

I sighed, and ran to get the others. We dispatched this round of goons in about three minutes with Sera’s help, and, to be fair, watching these hapless shems run around bare-arsed trying to fight was pretty funny. We looted the bodies (not much on them, which I guess speaks to how much Ser Dead Guy was paying his security), I gave Sera a few sovereigns for the breeches, because stout fabric like that was still hard to come by, and we were just about to go our separate ways when she turned around, ran back towards us and grabbed me by the arm.

“Hey, wait up a sec. I wouldn’t have to call you ‘Your Worship’ or anything if I joined up, right?” she asked.

“Not unless my mum tells you to.”

“Phwoar, your mum’s there, is she? She still make that thing with the apples?”

“Can you get the other Jennies on board?” I asked. “We’re going to need people with access to nobles.”

“Can I get that thing with the apples?”

“You get me the whole Red Jenny network, and you can have all the apple crumble you can eat. I’ll have mum get the recipe to Flissa as soon as we’re back at Haven,” I replied, keeping my best ‘Serious Negotiations’ voice.

“Yes! You’re the best, Nessa. Don’t go getting all high-and-mighty on me, though – I think I could like this Inquisition when it’s got little people at the top.

I sent her to Harding, who was handling our sudden influx of assets back at the inn. In addition to the Red Jennies, we had also been able to substantially bolster our supply sources, which meant we’d be able to eat something other than nug and turnip stew – a huge win. Put all of that together, plus the cart-load of fabric I was bringing back to mum, and my first trip out of Ferelden was looking just about as successful as that first trip out of Denerim all those years ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “lapins putains” – Literally: “Rabbit-whores.” “Knife-ear” doesn’t translate well into Orlesian, so elves are called “Rabbit,” instead.


	9. Under Her Skin

After about a week and a half in Val Royeaux, I was ready to get back home. And, surprisingly enough, by ‘home’ I meant ‘Haven.’ I don’t know if it was knowing that Mum was there, or just the thought of not having my ears assaulted by Orlesian all day, every day, but by the time we were loading up the carts to head back to Haven, I was so ready to go. It was tiring, always having to be the ‘Herald of Andraste.’ I felt like a circus attraction; everyone wanted to see the knife-ear touched by the Prophet. I was starting to attract crowds in the market square. For this city girl, suddenly that backwoods collection of shacks and snow was starting to sound like the most wonderful place in Thedas.

So, it was absolutely no surprise that less than a day before we were scheduled to ride out through the city gates, Harding got a bird in from Leliana that changed everything. She called Cassandra, Varric, Rylen and I to a meeting in the scouts’ room.

“It was in a black-ribbon message from Nightingale – her highest priority messages. Josephine received an overture from the Court-Enchanter of the Empress, who’s also known as Vivienne, Madame de Fer. She’s inviting the Inquisition to a soirée at the chateau of her lover, Duke Bastien de Ghislain.”

“That has got to be the most Orlesian thing anyone has ever said,” I laughed. “Why is it so important that we need to hear about some party Josephine is going to? Does she need us to scope the place out first? Are they expecting trouble?”

“The soirée is in a week,” Harding replied, “So, no one from Haven would be able to get there in time. And Cassandra can’t go because of who’s on the guest list – there’s some Nevarran politics involved that I don’t quite understand. No, they want you to go, Your Worship.”

I got up out of my seat and headed for the door reflexively, before composing myself enough to speak. “Are they insane? They shouldn’t even let me serve the cheese platters at things like this – I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Oh, look what Josephine added in the message: ‘Tell the Herald to take a deep breath’ – it says so right here. So, take a deep breath. Then it says, ‘tell her she’ll be just fine.’ You’ll be just fine, Your Worship,” Harding said with a light chuckle, and the smile she gave seemed to stop time for a moment.

“We will make this work,” Cassandra said. “It is imperative that you go, Herald, given the circumstances, but I share your concern. The Game is not to be trifled with. We shall simply send someone with you. Perhaps Ser Rylen would be willing to go.”

“I would be honored, my Lady,” Rylen said, “but there would be no one to escort the troops back to Haven. With a retinue so green, they need an experienced presence. Perhaps Master Tethras would be a better choice.”

Varric let go a loud guffaw, and Cassandra almost shrieked at the thought.

“Absolutely not. We will not have Varric Tethras representing the Inquisition on any level as long as I draw breath.”

“Seeker, I’m wounded,” Varric replied. “You mean you’re actually not going to let me attend a boring party where I’ll be accosted by people asking me about the Tale of the Champion all night?”

Cassandra grunted, looking away from Varric, and shaking her head.

“I could go,” Harding said. “I mean, nothing short of blood magic is going to get the Herald up to speed on The Game in a week – no offense, Your Worship,”

“None taken,” I chuckled.

“And, honestly, I don’t think they’ll care. They really just want someone there, so the Herald just needs to be herself, and to do that, she needs someone to stand with her, so she remembers she’s the Herald of Andraste, and doesn’t let a bunch of rich humans intimidate her. And I’m not like Charter or Rector; I can be seen in public. Plus, I’m also handy with a knife, and it might be good to have someone watching her back.”

“And you don’t feel intimidated by rich humans, Lieutenant?” Cassandra asked.

“Only sometimes,” Harding replied. “But there are some funds set aside for important missions like this, and a new dress would do wonders for my confidence. Besides, I’d be accompanied by the Herald of Andraste.”

“It’s settled, then,” I interjected, trying to keep this from being a decision Cassandra had to make. “Cassandra, you, Varric, and Solas can head back to Haven with the supplies as scheduled. Harding and I will attend this soirée, and return as soon as we’re able.”

Cassandra, Rylen, and Varric went back to their preparations for departure the following day, but I hung back a bit.

“Hey, I wanted to thank you for offering to do this, Harding. The whole idea makes me kind of nervous, to be honest, and it’ll be good to have someone on my side, you know?”

“That’s me,” Harding replied, smiling. “I’m always going to be on your side, Herald.”

We made plans the following day to upgrade our wardrobes for the event, but were advised by nearly everyone in Val Royeaux to go with something more functional than fancy. Or, as Cassandra so kindly put it: “Keeping you alive until we seal the breach is the single most important mission the Inquisition has, and I will not see that mission fail because you wore a frilly dress to some noble’s party.” So, we saw an armorer rather than a dressmaker, and we both opted for a tunic-and-breeches look, rather than a coat or that weird skirt-thing that was all the rage in the early 9:30s. The armorer was very happy to create two pieces specifically for the Inquisition, especially when we told her we’d pay for rush service. Both leather tunics were sleeved, and covered in a stout, dark grey fabric with white pinstriping, to match the Inquisition’s colors. My breeches were a dark burgundy, and Harding’s were gold.

The armorer had an elven servant, and her eyes went wide when she saw us walk in, focusing immediately on the mark on my left hand. After the armorer left her alone with us to take our measurements, she whispered to me in heavily-accented Trade.

“I want to thank you for what you are doing. The elves, we see you. Herald or no Herald, shems listen to you. I do something special for you, yes? In case these shems don’t like you, you will be safe. Old Sylvie knows tricks, _non_? You are busy women, and can only come back after closing to pick these up? Such a shame. I will let Madame know.”

I smiled at her, and told her that she’d be welcome to work with Harritt in our armory, but she said that her husband was in poor health, and the cold air in the mountains would be bad for his rheumatism. “I will pray for you, Herald,” she said. “But first, I take care of you. Two hours past sundown, yes, _da’len_?”

We showed up as scheduled, and Sylvie was waiting for us in an alley next to the shop with a cowl draped over her head, which at that time of night was making my hands twitchy for my daggers, and I could see Harding reaching for hers already. I put my hand up to signal her ‘not yet’ on the knives, and we followed Sylvie into the shop. She lit two lamps on the counter, giving the shop just enough light to be less menacing, but not enough to attract customers, or other unwanted attention. She handed us each a package and shooed us toward a small room with a curtain in front, telling us “you try these on now, yes? I will make adjustments.”

Harding and I walked behind the curtain and began to undress. And it turned out that her sun-kissed cheeks and blindingly radiant smile were, in fact, matched by a delightfully curvy dwarven figure, and it occurred to me that it was my duty as the Herald of Andraste to ensure that she never wore that shape-erasing breastplate ever again.

“Oh, Your Worship, you should really look at this,” Harding said, as she began to put the breeches on. “It looks like – um, Herald? My eyes are up here. Anyway, it looks like Sylvie really came through for us. Check out what she did with the breeches. And for the Maker’s sake, stop staring!”

At least she was laughing while she said that. She wasn’t kidding about the breeches. Along the sides there was a hidden slot with a stiletto on one leg and a small knife on the other, just in case of trouble. The weapons were hidden in such a way that a bit of filigree on the tops of each grip looked like decorations on the breeches. A pat-down would find the weapons, but barring that, we could be armed at the gathering without drawing too much attention to ourselves. The armor was stout, but not stiff – I’m almost certain it was bear hide. This stuff cost a fortune, but Cassandra certainly wouldn’t have to hear that we didn’t make it back because we weren’t well enough armored.

“Let me look at you,” Sylvie said as Harding and I emerged from the fitting room. “Yes, this looks nice,” she muttered. “_Cette vache a bien fait,_ yes?”

She winked at me when she heard me snort-laugh at her insulting her employer. “All is in order. Just as was promised, _non_?”

“_Ma serannas, hahren,”_ I said. “This is perfect. And I love what was done with the breeches.”

“Old Sylvie has tricks,” she replied. “Now, you wear this well. Be safe, _lethallan_. We are so proud of you.”

We changed back into our street clothes and took the new armor back to the inn after promising Sylvie half a dozen times that we would, in fact, stay safe. She didn’t believe us anymore than we did.

Two days later, we were on our way to Ghislain, via the road to Andoral’s Reach. Duke Bastien had arranged a plush upholstered carriage, drawn by two Orlesian Coursers, with the Duke’s own guard accompanying for safety. I felt like nobility. I looked like nobility. I could probably snap my fingers twice and have the shems guarding us polish my boots. Hey – there were four shems and between Harding and I, four boots, so…

“You have an absolutely feral grin, Your Worship. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“Oh, nothing,” I replied. “Just thinking about how we should probably get a shine on these boots before we walk into the soirée. You think those shems could take care of that for us?”

Harding laughed and shook her head. “Probably, but what do you say we not intentionally provoke the much bigger people with the pointy swords who are charged with our safety? Sound good to you?”

“Fine…,” I huffed, and went back to looking out the window as northern Orlais rolled by.

“You know, Your Worship,” Harding said after a little while, “I’m glad I’m here with you.”

I thought my face would break from smiling. “I’m glad you’re with me, too, Scout Harding.”

“If you don’t mind my saying so, you were a bit of a pain in the ass when we first met, so I’m glad you’ve mellowed a bit.”

I almost fell over laughing. “This is the way you talk to Our Lady’s own herald, is it? I see the kind of respect you so-called Andrastrians have.”

“No, really. When we first met that day in the Hinterlands, you looked like you wanted to be anywhere else. But now, I don’t know, it’s like you’ve accepted that you’re with us.”

“Well, the perks aren’t bad,” I replied, running my fingers over the velvet upholstery.

“They really aren’t, are they?

“And the company is just lovely,” I continued, flirting nearly unconsciously at that point. Harding, however, began to squirm in her seat, and we fell into a strangely uncomfortable silence.

Five minutes of that was about all I could take.

“Well, shit. I’ve made you uncomfortable. Look, I’m really sorry about that, Scout Harding, it’s just –”

“No, it’s okay, Your Worship,” Harding interrupted. “In fact, it’s a little flattering, if I’m honest. And if things were different, well …”

“Different how?”

Harding took a moment and exhaled. “Look – you’re my boss. I mean, Sister Nightingale’s my real boss, and I get that, but I still work for the Inquisition, and you’re still the Herald of Andraste. I need this job. Threnn sends ten sovereigns a week out of my pay to my parents, and without that, they wouldn’t be able to support themselves. And you don’t seem like the kind of person who would get vindictive, but if things went south, or if we weren’t on the same page, well, you’re the one with the green glowy hand, and I’m not, y’know?”

“Hey – I mean, I know I’m not the most refined girl out there, but you can’t think I’d really be like that, right?” I pleaded.

“No,” she replied, “but you’re not the only one with a stake in this. Literally all of Thedas is relying on us. I’m sorry, Your Worship, but I just can’t right now.”

“Right now?” I asked, cringing almost as soon as the words came out of my mouth.

“Please, Your Worship,” Harding replied. “This isn’t fun for me, either.”

“You’re right,” I said, putting my hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry.”

Harding mumbled her thanks, and we went back to that deafening silence for a few minutes before she started chuckling to herself.

“What’s so funny?” I asked.

“Oh, nothing,” she replied. “It’s just – my mother’s been on my case to ‘find someone nice to settle down with’ for years, and here I am turning down the Herald of Andraste.”

I half-heartedly chuckled along with her as she continued.

“I can see the letter now: ‘Lace Harding, I thought we raised you better than that!’”

“Lace? That’s a pretty name.”

“Thanks,” she replied with a soft grin and a slight blush.

“Hey, I completely respect what you said earlier – I want you to know that. But, would you mind if I called you that? Lace, I mean. It’s just, I really don’t have any friends here. I mean, the only elf who doesn’t treat me like I’m –”

“The Herald of Andraste?” she asked.

“Yeah, that. The only elf who doesn’t treat me like that is Sera, and, well…”

“There’s a history there, right?”

“I’ll tell you ‘The Ballad of Nessa and Sera’ someday, promise. But, yeah. There’s a bit of a history. Anyway –”

“Nessa, it’s fine,” Lace said, sitting forward and taking my hands in her own. “I could use a friend, too.”


	10. Great Things are Beginning

Lace and I did manage to enjoy the rest of our journey up to Ghislain. We stopped for the night in Montfort, somehow finding the most raucous inn in all of northern Orlais. There were only three rooms available, so the guards and drivers piled into two of them, and Lace and I shared the third. After we settled the sleeping arrangements, we walked into the tavern to get a meal, and I was treated with the most glorious sight I’d seen in months, if not years. The tables were pushed to the sides of the tavern, and a full band, with pipes, flutes, viols, and drums were at the head of the room, working a full dance floor into a frenzy of allemandes and courantes – I think I even heard a bourée in there. Lace grabbed my hand as soon as we saw what was going on, and we jumped right in.

The other dancers were good, if a bit tipsy, but it was just at the point where the Allemande was exuberant, but no one was falling on their asses or getting their arms tangled up. Then when the band leader called out “Tourdion!” I let out a very un-Herald-like squeal, matched only by Lace’s. Val Royeaux had only had the tourdion for the last year or two. It had only reached Denerim a month before the conclave. I have no idea where Lace heard it, but I wasn’t about to ask. We were both bouncing on our heels as the music started, and I thought she was going to dislocate my shoulder when we went into the center for the first time. But watching her twirl from hand to hand like she was floating on air was breathtaking. And when I was being passed around the circle, I watched her smiling face with every turn.

The band took a break about a half-hour after Lace and I got there, and she and I collapsed into a chair in a sweaty, tangled pile of giggles, before she rolled off my lap and onto the chair next to mine.

“Nessa? Have we been drinking? We haven’t been drinking, have we?” she asked. I just roared with laughter.

“No, but that changes now. ‘Messere?’” I called. “_Un bouteille de vin rouge, s'il vous plaît! __Et deux_, um… cups!”

“I’m really more of an ale girl myself, Nessa,” Lace said. “Don’t get too many fancy wines in Redcliffe.”

“Me, too,” I replied. “The only wine you get in the Alienage comes from the back of Alarith’s shop, and I’m not sure he even knows what a grape looks like. But when’s the next time we’re going to be in Montfort, right?”

A large bottle of wine and two beautiful cut glasses were placed between us, followed quickly by a bowl of coq au vin for each of us.

“Compliments of the hostess, my Lady Herald,” the waiter said. “For you and your lovely companion.”

“Oh, I’m not –” Lace began.

“You are, too, lovely,” I said, cutting her off with a grin, and she responded by snort-laughing into her bowl.

“You see? Very lovely,” I replied, laughing. “_Merci bien, messere,”_ I said back to the waiter. “Please pass on the Inquisition’s gratitude.” The waiter bowed officiously, trying very hard not to smile, and I tucked into the chicken.

“Look at you, Nessa!” Lace said, swatting my arm and getting red wine sauce splatter on my tunic. _“‘Please pass along the Inquisition’s gratitude._’ You were so official-sounding, I almost thought you were Josephine for a moment.”

“Ha. No, if I were her, I’d’ve rolled those Rs in ‘gratitude’ so Antivan-ly that the waiter would still be here feeding us the chicken by hand.”

“Her voice is something else, isn’t it?” Lace agreed.

“Confession time? When I first got to the Inquisition, I would ask her two or three times a week where Seeker Pentaghast is from, just so I could hear her say ‘Nevarrrrra.’”

“You did not! Oh, you are so bad.”

“I think by the last time she’d caught on, because she was giving a little extra to the r. Completely worth it, though.”

“You know who has a really hot voice though?” Lace asked. “Sister Nightingale. I mean, she’ll probably have me killed in my sleep for saying this out loud in public, but that Val Royeaux accent is just so… yummy.”

“Ooh, you’re right,” I replied. Lace chuckled.

“Oh, you have a thing for Orlesian accents, too?”

“Nah. You get sick of them working in the Chantry. But you’re right that she’s going to kill you for calling her voice ‘yummy.’” Lace buried her face in her hand.

“She is, isn’t she?”

“Probably. So, drink up, I think they’re going to start the music again.”

We’d held it to the one bottle that night, so our aches and pains the next morning were more from the dancing than from the wine. But we weren’t the only ones who’d been in need of a party, so by the time we found in which room and with whom everyone had been sleeping, had some breakfast, packed up the carriage, tripled the horseminder’s usual fee, and hit the road for Ghislain, it was mid-morning. We wanted to get there by early evening, but now it looked like it might be after dark before we arrived.

“Okay, so I need to know,” I asked Lace as soon as we’d cleared Montfort and hit the open road, “where did you learn to dance like that?”

“Oh, that?” she said with a wink of false modesty, “That wasn’t dancing. When we get to Madame de Fer’s salon, I’ll show you some dancing.”

She said that with a smile, and, honestly, I wanted to take it that way. But I knew what she said, even if she hadn’t meant it. The dancing in Ghislain was going to be nothing like the party in Montfort. There were expectations of propriety which, especially as _un lapin sauvage_ (and I just adore how Orlesian manages to remove our gender with its favorite elven slur), I would be mandated to, expected not to, and at all times impeded from upholding.

I must have been sitting with an awful brood on my face, because Lace reached across the carriage to grab my hands.

“Okay, what’s going on in that head of yours?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

“The insubordination around here, I swear!” I quipped. Lace wasn’t having any of that, however.

“Okay, ‘Bullshit, _your worship_.’ You’re nervous about tonight, aren’t you?”

“A little,” I replied, and in my defense, it was a bit more than just a party, “but I’ll be okay, honestly.”

“Why is it that any time someone ends a sentence with ‘honestly,’ that’s how you know not to believe them?”

“I’ll be fine, Lace. You’ll be there, right?” I wasn’t going to be fine, but if this conversation went on any longer, I was going to be even worse.

“Yeah, I will,” she said, giving my hands a final squeeze before retreating to her side of the carriage. I think she knew I was brushing her off, but she was either too fed up with my moods to persist, or she recognized I needed a moment. I chose to believe the latter.

As it happens, she was there, just as she promised. And that turned out to be a very good thing. The light small-talk we made for the following few hours had helped to distract me, but once we were shown to the guest quarters and were separated, the nerves returned. And while it was amusing to be assigned a human valet, she wasn’t really going to help get my head screwed on straight, so I sent her away.

Lace was waiting for me in the foyer when it was time for introductions. We showed up 20 minutes after the appointed time, which was a power move, but a fully expected, if not required power move from people representing the Inquisition.

“Mistress Nessa Ghilani, The Herald of Our Lady Andraste, representing the Inquisition.”

There was an audible gasp when the footman called me the ‘Herald,’ and I froze in place. ‘_Shit. That’s me_,’ I thought. Then Lace gave a firm push to my backside, and I started walking in, until I heard,

“Accompanying her, Mistress Lace Harding of Redcliffe, Scout Lieutenant of the Inquisition.”

I waited for her to catch up, extending my elbow for her to slip her arm into. It wasn’t generally the way things were done, but neither was having an elf and a dwarf walk into a high society salon. Lace took the hint, and we walked in together.

Once we got there, it was all about the small talk. Lace was perfect, setting me up to tell stories, telling people I was being modest, and seeming to hang on my every word when I did speak. With her help, my shyness became mystery, and I soon had a dozen masked shems enraptured by the story of my killing the demon that was possessing a pack of wolves near Redcliffe Farms.

All was going well – phenomenally well – much better than I’d thought possible, in fact. That is, until Marquise Alphonse du Mont-de-Glace showed up with a cocky strut and a patronizing slow-clap.

“_Brava_,” he said, just loud enough to be heard over the low din of the rest of the guests. “_Formidable_. I am so pleased we have such an expert storyteller with us this evening.”

“And you are…?” I asked, feeling a bit more confident than I had when I walked in.

“I am the one who will expose your pig-shit Inquisition for what it really is.”

Ah. A bully. I had run into plenty of bullies in my days running lyrium in Denerim. This one was just dressed a bit nicer. Lace put a hand on my shoulder to calm me, and I smiled. I turned to her, whispered in her ear, “Don’t worry, I’ve dealt with plenty of his kind,” and stroked her cheek, looking fondly into her eyes, then at her lips. She blushed, then her eyes went wide, and she hit me with a quick, but unmistakable glare, right before she plastered her grin back on.

“Be careful.”

I wasn’t entirely sure what she was referring to at that moment, but I nodded and smiled and walk towards the showman.

“What’s your point, _monsieur_?” I asked. “Are you trying to pick a fight? Because calling out the Inquisition really isn’t the way to do it.”

“Do they let you fight, my lady? I would think that the Inquisition would want to keep their pet Rabbit safer than that.”

The crowd – and by this time there was a crowd – became silent when he called me that. He’d lost them, so all I needed to do was not be baited into a fight, and this would be over.

“Or is that what your companion is for?” he continued. “Tell me, do they charge extra for the ‘Scout Lieutenant’ title at the Pearl?”

In about a second and a half I had crossed the five meters separating us, tossed away his rapier, pinned his right arm against his back, and held the small knife Sylvie had packed into my breeches up to his neck, drawing a trickle of blood as I opened a tiny cut. So much for not getting baited.

“Apologize, asshole, and I might make it quick,” I growled. “You have three seconds. Three, t-”

Suddenly the marquis felt like a block of ice, and I jumped back from him. Slinking down the stairs was a woman who I could only imagine was our hostess. I backed up a few more steps and sheathed the knife.

“My dear, that ensemble is far too fetching to be soiled by this man’s blood. Please, allow me.” She snapped her fingers, and the marquis’s lifeless body slumped to the floor. I looked back to the crowd to see that Lace had just made a hasty exit. I moved to follow her, but Madame de Fer placed a hand on my shoulder.

“Don’t worry, dear, your friend will be well attended to. Meanwhile, you and I have business to discuss.”

We began walking towards a side office when she turned around to greet the still quiet party.

“My lords and ladies, please forgive this terrible interruption. Apparently, I need to do a better job of managing my guest lists. Maestro? Now would be an excellent time to begin the dance. Perhaps an arabesque? And could someone clean up that mess?”

The apologies came streaming out of my mouth as soon as the door closed behind me.

“Madame de Fer, I am so sorry for that. He just –” She cut me off with a wave of her hand and a slight chuckle.

“First of all, darling, you showed incredible restraint for someone your age. Had that been me twenty years ago, he would have been a smear on the floor before the second word came out of his mouth.”

I nodded in reply and smiled, imagining that scene.

“And secondly, while I can’t say the title ‘Madame de Fer’ isn’t delightful, it’s not generally something people call me to my face. Please feel free to call me Vivienne. ‘Lady Vivienne’ if you absolutely must, ‘Enchanter Vivienne’ if the mood strikes, but as we are, for the time being, societal peers, simply calling me Vivienne is most appropriate.”

I looked at her with my mouth agape.

“Oh yes, dear. Societal peers. You are, after all, the Herald of Andraste. And as the Inquisition grows in stature, I suspect I shall one day find myself lucky to call you one of my acquaintances. But that’s not why I invited you here.”

Right. Business. “Why did you invite me here, then, Vivienne?”

“With Divine Justinia dead, the Chantry is in shambles. Only the Inquisition might restore sanity and order to our frightened people. As the leader of the last loyal mages of Thedas, I feel it only right that I lend my assistance to your cause.”

“Well, we already have an ambassador, and she keeps us on our toes regarding etiquette and…”

“Oh no, my dear. While I do have a keen knowledge of The Game, it is not simply my mind and my connections I’m offering, but my staff. You may be able to shiv a rogue templar without him knowing you’re there, but I can send a bolt of lightning through him from 50 meters away.”

“You know that we sleep in tents while we’re out in the field, right?”

“Well, perhaps you do, but I shall require a retinue of no fewer than four footmen and a carriage with two horses to carry me and my accoutrements through the countryside.”

I began to think of a polite way to let her down. The horses would be spooked by demons, and the footmen would be four more people to guard, and –

“That was a joke.”

“Right, of course. Anyway, the Inquisition would love to have you – it would be ridiculous for us not to, if I’m honest. When can you meet us in Haven?”

“Great things are beginning, my dear,” she replied. “I can promise you that. It will take me a day or two to make arrangements here, and then I shall meet you in the Frostbacks. Meanwhile, you should see about your friend. Don’t worry, I will make your apologies here.”

I slipped into the shadows after I got back into the ballroom and made my way toward the exit. It was easier to hide once I found my way to the chateau’s guest quarters, and I quickly made it to Lace’s chambers.

“Lace? Lace, can I come in, please?”

Lace opened the door for me. She’d changed into her nightgown, taken the pins out of her hair, and this was not at all helping my quest to stay chaste in our relationship. I stammered a bit before she invited me in and had me take a seat at her vanity.

“Lace, I’m – er, I’m really sorry about that down there. I know you said -”

“You know they’re all going to be talking about us, right? This is Orlais – this bit of gossip, the elven Herald and her dwarf lover – this is the best thing they’ve had in ages. Sister Nightingale’s probably already heard about it.”

“But we didn’t –”

“That look you gave me before you faced down the Marquis? Then the way you rushed to defend my honor? And now you’re in my chambers? What’s real doesn’t matter when you have facts like that.”

“I just want you to know that I didn’t mean to…”

“No one’s ever done that for me before,” she continued, walking over to me and sitting on my lap. “No one’s ever stood up for me like that. And you looked like you wanted to kiss me. That could get a girl to thinking. That could get a girl more than thinking…”

“I did want to kiss you,” I replied, still a bit unsure. She smiled, stood up, and pulled her nightgown over her head, then straddled my lap completely naked with her arms around my neck.

“I hope you want to do more than that.”

I did, and I didn’t need a second invitation. I pulled her face towards mine and kissed her with every bit of passion I’d been saving up since I first met her at that campsite near Redcliffe. She reached around my back and undid the buckles on my tunic, sliding it off and tossing it to the side. She then took the knife out of my breeches and cut my breastband off, tossing the now useless fabric and the knife onto my leather armor.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” she said, her voice muffled by my breasts. “Now get out of the rest of that and take me to bed.”

We stood up and stumbled over to the annoyingly high bed. The buckles and laces which had taken so long to fasten a few hours earlier came apart much more quickly, and my breeches and boots fell to the floor along with my smalls.

I climbed up to join her on top of the bed. It was plush and luxurious, but there was far too much going on with pillows and lace things, all of which I threw to the floor as I fell on top of her.

“You know,” she said, struggling to form words as I slowly ran my tongue up the inside of her thigh, “I meant what I said yesterday about… about how we shouldn’t do this.”

“Mm-hmm,” I replied, as her hands began to claw at the bedspread underneath her.

“I’m seri – oh Maker!” she cried out as my mouth found her center, and my tongue danced on the bundle of nerves at the top.

“Nessa, I’m – I’m serious. We can’t… we… Oh sweet Andraste right there!” She gave up trying to talk as I slid two fingers inside her while my tongue still worked on her clit. Her climax was loud enough that if anyone in the chateau hadn’t thought Lace and I were an item before, they certainly thought so now. As her breathing slowed, I crawled out from between her legs and nestled myself into the crook of her shoulder.

“Nessa, I… we…”

“Ssh,” I said, placing a finger on her lips. “I know what this is, and what it isn’t. And I know what I want, and I’m willing to wait for it.”

“What do you want?” she asked.

“I want you,” I replied. “All of you. And I’m pretty sure you feel the same. And I get why you’re nervous about that, and I won’t make things more difficult than they have to be. Just know that I’m waiting. When you’re ready, I’ll be here.”

Lace looked up at the ceiling and let go a grunt that Cassandra herself would be proud of, before rolling on top of me and kissing me soundly.

“You’re not making this whole cool, detached ‘it’s just sex’ thing I was hoping for very easy, you know,” she said. I grinned.

“I said I wouldn’t make things more difficult, Lace. I didn’t say I’d make them easy.”


	11. Embrium Fields

The next morning actually wasn’t awkward. With Sera, ‘Morning Afters’ had always been awkward, especially in the beginning, when it was usually like “oh, shit, did we get that drunk again last night?” and then not looking each other in the eye until a few days later. 

Oh, yeah. Sera. Here’s that story I’ve been promising:

Maryden’s song talks about all the things Sera Was Never, and, to be honest, the song’s funny because it’s true, and the more you know her, the funnier the song is. But she also _was_ a lot of things: fiercely loyal, kind, compassionate, giving, and an infuriating pain in the ass. We met shortly after I started working at the Chantry. She was 17, I was 22, and we’d both done a whole lot of living in those short years. When she was eight, her noble foster mother (aka “That Bitch”) died, and she stayed at her estate until she was 12, when she ran away with the Jennies, firing the staff, and letting the estate go to ruin. Cookies were involved, and that’s all I remember about her drunken rambling on the subject.

We met at a bonfire that a few friends of mine from the black market lyrium trade had invited me to. Someone at the party was the Jenny of Denerim, and so Sera, who’d been in town for Maker knows why, was there, getting snocked with the rest of us. And because Sera is Sera, two weeks later I found myself in the chicken coops of this wealthy farmer who wasn’t paying his laborers, putting the chickens on one of our lyrium wagons on its way to South Reach. The job went tits-up, and Sera and I had to run three kilometers back into Denerim, ducking the City Guard and this guy’s own security team, and we wound up taking refuge in an unlocked shed in the back of an empty house, alone, after dark, full of adrenaline, and I think everyone can guess how that night ended.

Neither of us are the playgirl type naturally, so the handful of times we saw each other when we had something serious going on with someone else, nothing happened, but things did happen often enough that whenever we were going to see each other, we sort of expected to wind up in bed together. She started staying with me at my mums’ house whenever she was in Denerim, and Mum referred to her as my girlfriend. I didn’t tell her otherwise.

But we weren’t. There was friendly affection, but there was never the kind of emotional bond that you’d have with a real girlfriend. Maybe it was because we’re so far apart in age, maybe it’s because of the way we were brought up, but whatever it was that kept us together, it was not love. We were far too different. For instance, that whole pranking thing she has going on? I never saw the point. It was always so childish. If I’m going to hurt someone, I’m going to hurt someone, not that I hurt people often, but still. If not, why bother? So, we would argue about that. Then, when the humans in the Chantry would treat one of my elven co-workers like shit, I’d complain to her, and she would always, without fail, find something wrong with what the elf did that became the excuse for the shem. And oh boy did we argue about that. Now, an actual couple will argue, have hot make-up sex, and then be made up. Sera and I, on the other hand, would argue, have perfunctory still-mad-at-each-other sex, and then just be kind of annoyed with each other. But, to make a long story a little less long, she moved to Orlais full-time sometime in late 9:39 or early 9:40, and I only saw her once or twice afterwards. Until that day outside of Val Royeaux.

So that ‘Morning After’ with Lace, when we just got up, got dressed, and went about our day with no shyness, no weirdness, and no clinginess was almost as good a feeling as the sex the night before. Almost.

“That’s a strange sort of pillow talk you have there, Nessa,” Lace said as we were dashing through embrium fields. “Not many girls would regale me with the story of an on-again, off-again thing they’ve had with the same person over years.”

“Yeah, well, I want to be honest, you know, as long as we’re here totally not starting something.”

Lace chuckled. “You’re still on that, huh?”

“It’s not as though last night was going to put me off the idea.”

Lace’s chuckle turned into full-on laughter, but we dropped the subject for a bit, both eventually falling asleep for the rest of the journey to Montfort.

This time around, the inn wasn’t hopping anywhere near the way it was on the way north, but it was still nice. The innkeeper still comped our meals (Boeuf Bourguignon this time), and while there was no dancing, there was a talented minstrel singing old Orlesian ballads. We were able to secure enough rooms so that I had one by myself this time, which was probably for the best. Sure, my little crush on Scout Lieutenant Harding had turned into full-blown infatuation on this trip, but I also respected her need to keep it cool.

“I missed you last night,” Lace said after we were back on the road the next morning.

“Come again?” I asked.

“I’m sorry,” she replied. “Just leave it.”

“No, I really want to know what you said. If you said what I think you said, I missed you, too.”

Lace smiled softly, and I’m pretty sure she was blushing, although it was a little dark in the carriage to see.

“I thought you might knock on my door, so I had it all planned out how I was going to turn you away, and then when you didn’t show up, I was kinda disappointed. Is that dumb? That sounds dumb when I’m saying it out loud. You know what – can you just forget the last three minutes of your life? Is that possible?”

I almost melted right there when she said that, but that wouldn’t have helped anything, so I did my best to stay composed.

“I really do respect what you said the other day, Lace. This is your job as much as it is your community and your home, and you need to protect that.”

“Thank you,” Lace said in return. “That means so much, you have no idea.” She took my hands and kissed the knuckles, then moved over to my side of the carriage and rested her head against my arm. We stayed that way, holding hands for the next several hours, dozing off, watching the Orlesian countryside. When the carriage stopped so the horses could get a breather and we could have a quick picnic lunch, she jumped off me like I was on fire and jumped back to her side, which we both chuckled at. She grabbed our packs off of the back of the carriage while we were stopped and brought them in, so we could touch up our makeup before we got to Val Royeaux.

The houses were starting to appear closer and closer together, signaling that we were on the outskirts of town, when Lace started to fidget. A lot. After a few minutes of this, I figured out why.

“Um…”

“Lace? Are you okay?”

“So, I’ve been thinking. This whole thing where you’re giving me space? I’m, er, not sure it’s working out so well.”

“Oh,” I replied, figuring I could hold in the emotions until we got to wherever we were staying that night.

“No – no, it’s not like that at all,” she corrected. “It’s, um…”

She took a deep breath and continued with a speech she’d obviously been rehearsing in her head.

“My lady, er, my lady Herald, while it would be unwise to enter into a romantic entanglement at this time, if you wished to court me, I would welcome that very much.”

I must have sat there with my mouth hanging open for longer than she was comfortable, because she seemed to get nervous shortly after saying that.

“Was that right? Did I do that right?” she asked.

“Lace, you’re asking the wrong alienage trash about manners here.”

“Nessa, I just asked the freaking Herald of Andraste if she would be willing to court me, so if you wouldn’t mind quitting it with the self-deprecating bullshit and give me a proper answer, I’m kinda dying here?”

“Oh, shit. Maker – right. Um, Scout Lieutenant Harding, I would be honored very much to court you, my lady, if you would have me,” I replied, trying very hard to stay serious while I, too, was kinda dying.

The smile that broke across Lace’s face lit up the whole carriage. She grabbed my face and kissed me solidly on the lips before rummaging around in her pack.

“Believe it or not, there’s not a whole lot of formal courting that goes on in the Hinterlands, either. But I’ve heard tokens are involved, and I knew this dwarf from the Free Marches who said that he gave her girlfriend a scarf to wear while she was courting him, so, here.” Lace pulled out a red scarf and tied it twice around my right arm, just above the elbow. “Wear this and think about me when you’re out there risking your life. Maybe it’ll give you a little more incentive to not get dead, _salroka_.”

“Thank you. I will,” I said, and kissed her softly on the lips before leaning back in my seat with an airy smile. The scarf was a darker red, and just looked like a little ornamental pop of color over my regular drab brown duster armor. Lace and I knew what it was, and the fancier humans probably would, too, but it wasn’t like I was wearing a sign that said ‘this chick is courting someone’ or anything.

We got back to the inn that we’d been using as our base of operations in Val Royeaux just as night was falling. Right after supper, two scouts met us in the tavern and pulled Lace aside. She came back to the table with a hardened look.

“I’m heading out tonight, Your Worship,” she said. “Nightingale wants us to head to the Storm Coast, which is on the northwestern tip of Ferelden. I didn’t catch exactly what the mission is, but it has something to do with Wardens. Charter and Rector know more, and they’ll be coming with me.”

“Very good, Harding,” I replied. “How long do you have before you leave?”

“We’re leaving now. Charter has my pack. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.” What momentary steely resolve I had left quickly.

“Be safe, _lethallan_,” I whispered. Her stoic act was fading, too, and she sat back down with me.

“You be safe, too, _salroka_.”

We must have stayed there staring into each other’s eyes for a moment too long, because Charter came behind me and muttered in my ear, causing me nearly to jump out of my seat.

“If you’re going to kiss your girlfriend, Your Worship, get on with it, so we can head out. We’ll take good care of her, not to worry.”

“So much for subtlety,” Lace said with a laugh.

“Nightingale’s got an opinion on the issue,” Charter said, “but she’s not daft enough to stand in your way. You’ve got one minute to make your goodbyes, Harding, then we’re leaving without you.”

I stood up and took her hands. “One kiss for luck?” I asked. She smiled softly and nodded, so I kissed her.

“I’ll see if I can send some personal messages with the correspondence. If Nightingale already knows, she may not mind.”

“I’d appreciate that,” I replied. “But stay safe and don’t compromise the mission, okay?”

“You’re cute, Nessa, but not that cute. Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing. I’ll see you when I get back.” She gave me a quick kiss, and then ran off with Charter and the other scout to head for Ferelden. I took that as my cue to make an early night of it, as I’d be leaving with Captain Rylen’s men in the morning.

We got an early – and I mean _early_ – start, and I was starting to feel grateful that the Denerim guard didn’t recruit elves. Rylen’s men (and they were only mostly men) still looked very, very young, but it was obvious that they had done some drilling while Harding and I were away. Rylen set me up on a horse, and he was going to spend much of the trip getting me up to a level of horsemanship where I at least wouldn’t have to walk everywhere. We were almost out of the gate when the corporal brought us all to a halt and called for me. Rylen helped me dismount, and we went to meet him up front. As we approached, a slender Elven mage addressed us in a subtle Orlesian accent.

“And this is the fabled Herald of Andraste?”

“That’s what they tell me,” I replied. “Who are you?”

“My name is Grand Enchanter Fiona, leader of the rebel mages. I have come to invite you to Redcliffe.”

The banality of this request finally struck me as the Grand Enchanter and I were speaking. I went through the motions of listening to and accepting the invitation, doing my best to make my words and actions sound as official as the situation demanded, until I listened to myself negotiating the terms of our meeting as if it were something I did every day. This was not me. She needed to speak with Cassandra or Josephine or someone, but certainly not some chantry maid with a glowing hand. I began to feel rather small and rather silly, as if this whole “Herald” thing were some fancy dress I was wearing but would inevitably have to return. I removed myself from the situation by telling Fiona that if she wanted to set something up more formally, she should send a missive to our ambassador, and they would handle it through the proper channels.

We rode out of town with me in a daze. After about a half-hour, I stopped the horse and scrabbled down to the ground, asking someone who looked like she knew what she was doing to walk it the rest of the way. I fell in line behind the soldiers, not even sure I belonged there, having never actually been a soldier. Rylen called the group to a stop and told the men to take a breather while he pulled me aside.

“Begging your pardon, Your Worship,” he said in that very stilted Free Marcher accent of his.

“Please don’t call me that, Captain,” I answered.

“I said, ‘_begging your pardon, Your Worship_,’” he insisted, “but the men need to see you up on that horse.”

I looked down at my shoes and began to trace patterns in the dust of the road with my toes. All of a sudden it was my first day at the Chantry again, and there I was, watching the Mothers at their evening prayers, knowing there was something I absolutely had to be doing, and knowing that even if I did know what that was, there was no way in heaven, earth, sea or sky, that I would know how to do it.

“Your Worship,” Rylen pressed. “I won’t bore you with my humble upbringings in Starkhaven, but I’ll tell you the same thing I tell every new lieutenant that’s worked for me who looks the way you do now. You wouldn’t be where you are if people didn’t believe you could do it, and the people who believe you can do it are these men and women right here. Now, I don’t know all that went on up at that fancy party – that’s a bit above my paygrade. But you’re still the Herald of Andraste, and that makes this group as much your men as mine, maybe more so. And they need to see their Herald up on that horse. And, frankly, so do I.

“This may seem like it’s all about you, Your Worship. And in many ways, it is. But this is also so much bigger than any of us, yourself included. So, please. Even if it feels wrong, get back up there and let the men see their Herald.”

Still in my snit, I huffed, but walked over to the horse, and Rylen helped me climb back up, and we were on our way.

“You give that pep-talk often, Captain Rylen?” I asked as the men were falling back into formation.

“I’ve given it a few times. Only rarely to folks who outrank me, though.”

“Really?” I laughed. “I’m not the first?”

“No, ma’am. In fact, the last person I gave that talk to was Cullen after he was named Knight Commander of Kirkwall following the Mage Rebellion there. He might be someone to talk to, as a matter of fact.”

Having a heart-to-heart with Cullen wasn’t exactly at the top of my to-do list, but I did appreciate the sentiment, and I expressed that to Captain Rylen.

“Any time. And believe me when I tell you honestly that it’s an honor to serve you, Your Worship.”


	12. Big Friggin Hero

Chapter Twelve: Big Friggin Hero

It took about a week, but we finally got back to Haven, where Mum was at the gate waiting for us to return. One of the soldiers helped me down off the horse, while Mum fussed over me, wiping imaginary dust off my coat and straightening out my lapels.

“Let me have a look at you, then,” she said. “Oh, there’s our Herald - is that a new coat, dear? Did you get that in Orlais?”

“Stop that, Mum, I just got back,” I replied, playfully swatting her hands from me. "And the soldiers are watching.”

“Oh, nonsense. They probably wish their mums were here, too, to fuss over them. Now, let me show you what I’ve done with some of that beautiful cloth you sent back from Val Royeaux.”

All in all, I was gone nearly a month, and in that time, Haven had turned into a fully-functioning base of operations. Belle from Val Royeaux had really come through, and supplies were coming in to town from all over Thedas, meaning that Mum was able to make better clothing for our people, Harritt had his forge working nearly non-stop cranking out top-quality weapons and armor, and Flissa was stocked with some of the heartier, if not the finest, ales and spirits available. A mess hall, of sorts, was set up adjacent to the inn, and everyone in the Inquisition was getting three square meals regularly, something that many of the elves and not a few of the humans had never had in their lives. There was a VIP mess as well, but Josephine drew the line there, managing to convince the other leaders that we should only use that section when we had visiting dignitaries to entertain. She had already hosted a number of Banns and Comtes and perhaps an Arl or two - I couldn’t tell the difference, honestly - and was putting the clout we gathered in Orlais to good use. Cullen’s army was gaining recruits from as far away as Verchiel and South Reach, and while elves weren’t being used in the army, a dozen or so scout-recruits came from the Jader alienage, giving us an Orlesian-speaking scouting presence for the other side of the Frostbacks.

“And let me show the loom that Threnn was able to find for me. I even have a nice shemlen girl who’s helping me as a drawboy. Pretty young thing, good with her hands, too. She’s about your age, you know.”

“Mum! I really don’t need you making matches for me.”

“I suppose you don’t, do you?” Mum replied with one of her wicked pointed looks. “Fabric’s never really been your thing, has it? But I’ve heard you don’t mind a little lacework these days…”

“Right. Good seeing you, Mum, but I’m off!” I barked, nearly pulling away from her, until I saw her start to chuckle.

“Oh, _lethallan_, let a mother have her fun. It was all the talk last week. Apparently, you were quite the dashing rogue, protecting your lady from that nasty comte. And then the elegant Madame de Fer simply – poof – takes care of him for you.”

“He was a marquis, Mum. And Vivienne didn’t want me to ruin my new armor with his arterial splatter, that’s why she froze him. Plus, she really doesn’t like it when people call her that.”

Mum laughed. “And now we’re on a first-name basis with the Court Enchanter of Orlais?”

“She’ll actually be joining us here in Haven. She wants to help, out in the field and everything.”

“I don’t like you getting too close to that magic, Nessa,” Mum warned. “But you’ve worked everything out so far. And it’s probably better her out there with you than that strange Solas fellow, anyway. Just be careful, okay?”

“Of course, _Mamae_.”

“Don’t ‘_Mamae’_ me, _lethallan_. I don’t know exactly what you get up to out there, but I’m sure ‘careful’ has nothing to do with it.”

I blew her a kiss and headed up to the Chantry to debrief from the trip and ran into Cassandra along the way.

“I should congratulate you on a successful trip, Herald,” she said.

“Should I be offended that you sound surprised, Cassandra?”

“I shouldn’t think so. You are very talented with a pair of daggers, and your ability to move in shadow is excellent. But I wouldn’t have picked you as someone who could negotiate the kind of diplomatic situations you found yourself in as easily as you did. So, yes, I am pleasantly surprised. And I hope you are, too.”

“Honestly, I’m kinda surprised I didn’t start another war or an Exalted March or something. I guess the Maker was looking out for us over there.”

Cassandra paused a moment, then put a hand on my shoulder and stopped me.

“Do you believe in the Maker, then?” she asked.

“Um, maybe?” I answered. “I mean, I know there’s something out there bigger than any of us, and I don’t just mean the Breach. And, this world all had to come from something, right? I don’t know if ‘the Voice of the Maker rang out, and His Word became all that might be,’ is exactly how it happened, but it’s as good a story as any.”

“You know your chant.”

“You pick it up spending 12 hours a day in a Chantry.”

“And the Chantry mothers,” Cassandra asked, “did they never invite you to services?”

“We were allowed, of course. But it wasn’t exactly encouraged. I mean, there’s a reason that they bring a service into the Alienage each week, right? How many elves have you ever seen in the congregation of one of your big Chantry services in Nevarra or Val Royeaux?”

“I – I am sorry,” Cassandra said, “That is awful. I suppose I’d hoped our Chantry clergy would have been more sensitive to such things.”

“No, they weren’t. But, to answer your original question, the spiritual and religious needs of the people cleaning up after the Chantry mothers wasn’t a top priority of the Denerim chantry, or its Grand Cleric.”

The War Room meeting itself took about an hour and a half. We discussed some political machinations with the Chantry in Val Royeaux that Leliana said she was going to deal with, some rumors about the Inquisition kidnapping the Divine that Josephine would handle, and Cullen sent an honor guard to Highever to attend a memorial service for the same Divine that Josephine was convincing people we didn’t kidnap. It was strangely fascinating, trying to channel Leliana’s murder impulse into useful pursuits, finding a place Cullen could send people to march, and watching Josephine contemplate eviscerating entire flocks of nobles with a few strokes of her quill. This was the first time that I wasn’t directly involved, which gave me an easier feeling about the whole thing.

“What sense did you get from Grand Enchanter Fiona, Your Worship?” Josephine asked, once all that had been settled.

“She looked like Val Royeaux was the last place in the world she wanted to be, for one,” I replied. “It was like she couldn’t stand still. I got the feeling that she wants so much more from us than we do from her, and we want a whole lot from her.”

“Do you think she’s bluffing?” Cullen asked.

“Bluffing how? I mean, maybe, but if she’s gotten the mages someplace safe, then – I don’t know. But something was off about her.”

“And this is why I think we should wait and contact the Templars. There’s always too much uncertainty with mages.”

“Regardless,” Leliana continued, “with mages we know that…”

I just sort of watched. Shems are interesting like that - it seems like their only goal sometimes is to shout over each other to try to get the upper hand. Well, Cullen and Cassandra were kinda shouting; at least their voices were definitely raised. Leliana sort of growled in that ‘I’m going to send people to torture you until you come to my point of view’ way she had. Josephine sounded like she wasn’t mad, just disappointed at how little the others understood.

After a few minutes of that they turned to me, and my first response was something along the lines of “It really doesn’t matter to me. Templars, mages, as long as we get the job done, right?”

Leliana rolled her eyes. Cullen just huffed and shook his head. Josephine gave a side-eye withering in its subtlety. But Cassandra had moved beyond annoyed straight into frustrated.

“That is unacceptable, Herald!” she said, slamming her hand on the table and turning to me. “You may not have asked for it, you may not even want it, but you are here among the leaders of the Inquisition because you belong here. Your input is vital to our efforts, and, frankly, I have had it with having to stop what we are doing to remind you of this. Whatever you were before you were touched by grace and marked by the Maker, you are no longer that person, and at this point it is an affront to everything I believe in that you continue to deny this.

I was beyond chastened - I was mortified by my actions. Maybe I was still exhausted from the trip, I don’t know, but a tear began to roll down my cheek for the first time since I saw Shianni come back from Arl Kendell’s abduction. Cassandra continued, unmoved.

“We can no longer afford to wait on your fits of pique, Herald. If you do not wish to be here, you are excused, and we will inform you of our decision when the time is right.”

By this point I was shaking, and the tears were falling more freely. In the most confident voice I could muster, which wasn’t very confident at all, I replied,

“I’m sorry.”

Cassandra fairly growled at this and raised her voice further. “I did not ask you for an apology, Herald,” she spat, “I asked for your input. Templars or mages, Herald? Templars or mages?”

“Cassandra!” Leliana exclaimed. “That is quite enough.”

I raised my hand to stop Leliana. “No, she’s right. But I really don’t know whether Templars or mages would be the better choice to help me close the breach.” I took a deep breath, steadied myself against the table as best I could and continued. “What I do know is that Fiona looked shady, and I’m kind of an expert in shady.”

“Which I have been meaning to ask you about, Your Worship,” Josephine said. I chuckled and continued.

“Yeah, I guess we should talk about that sometime. Anyway, Fiona looked like she was hiding something big. I don’t know what’s going on in Redcliffe, but whatever it is, it’s not good, and we should probably have a look.”

The room fell silent, and for a moment I thought I’d said the wrong thing somehow, until Cassandra spoke.

“Thank you, Herald. I agree. We should leave for Redcliffe as soon as we can.”

“Um, hey, look,” I piped up, “I probably shouldn’t be asking for anything at this point, but could we hold off on that for a bit? I’m still worn down from the last trip, and I don’t want to go into this half-assed, you know? Maybe a week? Besides, shouldn’t it be more than just a small group? We’re looking at a group of mages here - if things go bad, we’re going to want some backup, especially if my hand is coming along. Maybe... Cullen? Could we muster…”

“A company? A battalion?” he asked.

“Not quite sure what the difference is, but whatever enough people is. Leliana, could you send some of your people to find out how dug in they are?”

“We don't need to do that, Herald,” Cullen said. As I started to make apologetic noises, he cut me off. “No, under normal circumstances you're absolutely right, but we only have so many men, and we need to keep a force at home to defend Haven. I can spare 60 veterans and a dozen recruits.”

“How many of those were Templars?” I asked, feeling a bit more secure. “If we have to get into it with mages, we’re going to need people who can dispel magic and Silence like a Templar.”

“Of course, Your Worship,” Cullen replied. “I will make sure that most of the veterans we send are former Templars.”

I did a good job trying to play off that I’d just given Cullen an order. At least, I was pretty sure I had.

“How long will it take to get all that put together?” I asked.

“We should be able to move out within 10 days.”

“If that's alright with everyone else, then, I guess we'll start with that. Perhaps we can get some contingencies together for when we get to Redcliffe in the meantime.”

The meeting adjourned informally shortly after that, with the other four having things to attend to. I stayed there for a bit, looking at that war table. We'd just spent the better part of an hour and a half moving pieces around Ferelden, Orlais, and Kirkwall (a favor for Varric). Those pieces represented real people. Sure, Charter and Rector and Lace and them knew what they'd signed up for, as did most of Cullen's troops. But even so, they deserved something more for their efforts than to literally be a game piece.

I wondered if I had a game piece.

* * *

It took a few days, but Sera was finally able to catch up with me. I was in the tavern, which is not exactly the best place in Haven to go if you’re hiding from her, but I really wasn’t hiding. I was just busy and exhausted and not really up for talking with her. She can be a bit much. But find me she did, dragging a human soldier behind her.

“Oi, Nessa. This fella here’s looking for you.”

“Well, you’ve found me,” I said, looking down at my ale. “What do you need?”

“Your Worship,” he began, “my name is Cremisius Aclassi, Lieutenant with the Bull’s Chargers mercenary company. I represent our leader, The Iron Bull, who -”

“That’s some name,” I said

“He’s earned it. Big Qunari fellow, horns wider than I am tall. And he’d like to speak with the Inquisition about providing our services. We’re the best company you’ll find, and we’ve got references to back it up. We’ll be along the Storm Coast in two weeks’ time clearing out a group of Tevinter fanatics who’ve nested there, and would be honored if you’d come see us in action.”

“You guys kill Tevinters?” I asked.

“Aye, Your Worship.”

“Good. Those fuckers tried to enslave my whole alienage.”

“Come again?” Aclassi asked. “Your whole alienage?”

“It happened during the blight. They got the Elder, got the Hero of Ferelden’s dad. She rescued them, but others, like my dad, were sent off before she got there. They made up this illness or gave us all a cold or something - I don’t know - but I’ll be happy to gut a few of them for you if it makes your life easier, shem.”

“Am I going to have to watch my back, Herald? I grew up in Tevinter myself.”

“But you kill them, right?”

“Some of them,” Aclassi replied. “No big loss for me, personally. They wanted to put me in irons, too.”

“Works for me,” I said, saluting him with my mug. “You want a beer while you’re here?”

“I appreciate it, Your Worship, but maybe next time. I need to find where I’m bunking down for the next couple of days.

“Fair enough,” I replied. “I’ll talk with our ambassador and see what kind of paperwork we’ll need. Meanwhile, before you leave, I’ll set up a meeting with Sister Nightingale, and she can take a look at your references. Not that I don’t believe you…”

“But you’d rather your spymaster have a look at who we’ve been working for. Makes sense to me. It was a pleasure talking with you, Your Worship, and I look forward to seeing you on the Storm Coast.”

With that he left, and Sera took a seat right next to me at the table.

“Phwoar, you’re scary, you know that?” she said.

“You think?”

“Yeah, I think. You go from running a bit of lyrium with three other knobs to being the head bitch in charge of this place.”

“I ran the whole city, and I’m not in charge here,” I protested. “I just do what they tell me, mostly.”

“Right,” she replied. “And that’s why all of these people come looking for you, because you’re nobody.”

I started to protest before she cut me off.

“We all know why the Denerim market ran so well. The others told me about some of the shite you’d pull in the field - Taedor would go on about that time you -”

“He had a bit of a hero thing with me,” I said.

“Exactly, you daft tit. And now all these knobs have a bit of a hero thing with you.” 

I looked around. The pub was crowded, all of the other tables were full, there were people standing, but Sera and I were the only ones at our table. When I stood up to get a closer look, the noise in the pub quieted, and not a few expectant eyes looked our way.

“Er, we have some empty seats over here if any of you want to sit down,” I said, regretting it nearly immediately when I was forced to make awkward small talk with four shems who wanted my opinion on the trebuchet they were building. They looked a bit sad when I told them that we didn’t have much use for siege equipment in the Alienage, and I almost took pity on them and made something up, until one of them asked me to describe Alienage life to him.

I stayed quiet for a bit too long, I guess, and they started to look uncomfortable. “Where are you boys from?” I asked, breaking the silence.

“We’re all from Highever, Your Worship,” one of them replied. “It’s how we all know each other. Signed up together an’ everything.”

“You still have folks there?”

“Aye, Your Worship,” the same one replied. “All our families are there.”

“Would you bring them here, if you could?” I asked, and the fellow who had been doing all the talking got quiet all of a sudden.

“Begging your pardon,” a different one replied, “but it’s a bit nicer back home, you know. Gets right drafty in those tents at night up here in the mountains.”

“You know what the only condition I made on the Inquisition was when I agreed to work with them?” I asked, my voice raising significantly. “I said I would not lift even one finger unless my mum got to live here with me. That’s how good the Denerim alienage is, and from everything I’ve heard, the Highever one makes mine look like a resort. Life in the alienage is dirty, it smells bad, everything costs twice as much because there’s only one store, and you thank the Maker every day that you’re not Orlesian, because at least in Ferelden you only have to deal with obnoxious guardsmen threatening to bring charges against you if you don’t sleep with them, not Chevaliers making their final test by hunting and killing you.”

“Maker… Your worship, I -”

“No, I don’t suppose you did. Write your folks and ask them to see how we’re doing in Highever. In fact, tell them the Herald of Andraste specifically asked them to, because she’s concerned about her people in Highever.”

They looked collectively chastened, so I stopped, and we sat in silence finishing our beers until the quiet one of the group piped up.

“If the Herald of Andraste, who was a friend to the elves Herself, asks us to look after her people in our city, then I will do just that. Our Lady sent an elf as Her herald to shame us for how we’ve mistreated the Maker’s children, and Highever will do its part to putting that to rights. Thank you, Your Worship,” he continued, standing up. “Come on, lads, let’s let the Herald finish her drink in peace.”

Sera let out a low whistle as they were walking out the pub door.

“See what I mean?” she asked. “Scary.”

She sat there a while with a cheeky I-told-you-so grin while I ordered us another round.

“If you start comparing me to Kallian, I swear…”

“I don’t know Kallian. But I never heard folks getting all religious-like like that talking about her, neither. Nah, you’re something else entirely, Nessa Ghilani,” Sera said, punctuating her sentence with a wink. I rolled my eyes, and she laughed.

“There’s our big friggin hero, folks, getting all flustered when a girl winks at her.”

“Sera!”

I lunged for her, but she ran out the door giggling.

* * *

The meeting with Leliana and Aclassi took place two days later in Josephine’s office in the Chantry. Aclassi was polite and efficient, almost to a fault. He and Josephine spoke of the various nobles that the Bull’s Chargers had worked for, while Leliana took notes and I tried to keep up. Josephine had just had the second round of tea poured for us when a young shem burst into the room.

“Beg pardon, folks. Nightingale, this just came in, my lady. Black ribbon, marked for your eyes only.”

Leliana took a small scroll from his hand, asked the shem (whose name was Pellane) to bring her a quill and some paper, and asked Aclassi to leave the room, which he did graciously. Josephine, Pellane and I looked intently as the look on her face became more and more worried as she decoded the message.

“This is not good,” she finally said. “The note is from Rector, one of my scouts in the field.”

“We’ve met,” I said, growing more nervous by the moment. Scout Pellane looked as though he was moments from a breakdown.

“It says: ‘Lieutenant Harding led a small complement of soldiers to the Storm Coast region to investigate reports of Grey Warden activity. She sent word that her party had established a camp near the shore, but we have received nothing further. At this time, the status of Harding and her mission remains unknown.’ Pellane, please breathe. If Charter were missing, Rector would have said. Your Worship…”

“Yeah, I’m not breathing until I find them,” I replied.

“Herald, I know that Lace is-”

“It’s not about Lace, Leliana,” I said, my voice more raised than I’d’ve liked. “Those are our people out there, and I’m not asking for your permission. Redcliffe can wait. Scout Pellane? Please find Sera, Seeker Pentaghast, and Enchanter Vivienne and have them meet me at the Chantry doors in an hour, and tell Aclassi that we’re leaving early.”

Pellane looked over at Leliana nervously, until she gave him a nod of permission and he ran off like he stole something.

“Leliana, can you have your investigations done in four days, and a message sent to us in the field?”

“They’re done already, Your Worship,” she replied. “Josephine was familiar with all of the names Aclassi gave us.”

“Fine, then I’ll give them a once-over when I get there, and if I like them, I’ll send them back here.”

“Your Worship, are you sure you’ll know how to evaluate them?” Josephine asked.

“Josephine, I ran lyrium shipments in and out of Denerim for five years; I think I know how to judge a merc band.”

“Yes, well, that does answer a few questions I had had about your past.”

I gave her a smile - I really hadn’t meant to snap at her like that.

“Thank you. Meanwhile, I’ll let Commander Cullen know that he can stand his men down and ask him to have someone set us up for the road. We’ll leave at dawn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Note: The message about Harding on the Storm Coast is taken nearly verbatim from the game, which belongs to EA and Bioware.


	13. They're My Men

Aclassi held up a fist, and we stopped our horses. We had been riding for three days, and probably had another two and a half to go, so nobody needed to be asked twice to get down from their mounts. I had hoped to get to the Storm Coast in four days, but as horses still really weren't my thing, it was taking longer than that. I maximized our time where I could, and Cassandra helped a bit with my riding form. Vivienne was surprisingly agile riding astride a horse, considering that she certainly spent more time inside a carriage. I knew about Sera, as Lady Emmauld had her learn horseback riding shortly after she took her in.

We all knew this was no social call, and the banter was kept to a minimum during the journey. Aclassi rode point, with Sera and Vivienne right behind him. Cassandra and I rode behind them, with Cassandra taking it upon herself to teach me as much horsemanship as she could as quickly as she could. Once we got down off the Frostbacks, riding became significantly easier. By this point we were halfway up the west side of Lake Calenhad, so we all knew why Aclassi had stopped us.

"How many and how far ahead?" I asked.

"Four of 'em that we can see," Sera answered. "About 150-200 meters. Regular thugs, nothing special."

"Should watch out for snipers, though," Aclassi said.

"Always smart to do that," I replied. Sera and I are going to go forward to have a little chat, criminal to criminal. Cassandra, you and Vivienne should stay with the horses – without them, we're fucked. But keep us within sight just in case, so move up a bit if you have to. Aclassi, do you want to go with us, or stay with them?"

"I'll go with you, Your Worship. Without you the whole world is fucked."

"Fair point," I replied, as Cassandra and Sera snickered.

"Enchanter Vivienne and I will be fine, Herald," Cassandra said.

"Good. I'd rather not have any bloodshed – these are just folks trying to survive, same as anyone – so if we can convince them to survive some other way, I'd rather do that than kill them. Sera, you ready?"

"Aye, Ness," she replied, which had me a bit nostalgic for Denerim for a half-second or so. "Let's do this."

Unfortunately for the bandits, there wasn't any time to discuss career choices. We'd just gotten to where they were lined up when we heard the ping of a released bowstring. Sera rolled left, I rolled right, and the poorly-shot arrow grazed Sera's calf. Before the thugs on the ground had a chance to react, Sera had felled the sniper with an arrow to the neck, and I was behind the leader, breaking in my new dragon grip dagger with his throat. Aclassi, who'd hidden back a bit, rushed onto the scene just as I'd been surrounded, and ran through a thug who was about to brain me. I was just about to shank the last thug, when he threw down his mace and raised his hands in the air. Sera, however, had already let go an arrow, and it lodged in his throat. I knelt down to have a look at him – human boy, maybe 17. It was a damn shame, I guess, but so is life.

His last words before he choked to death on his own blood were "Sorry about all the trouble, miss."

"I know, _lethallin_," I replied, wiping his hair out of his eyes. "Go to the Maker's side. You won't have to do this there."

"Shite!" Sera said, coming up behind me as the kid breathed his last. "I'm sorry - I didn't see he surrendered, I'm –"

"It's okay, Sera. It happens." She didn't look at all okay, so I put my arms around her for a bit and just held her in silence. Aclassi gave us a bit of space, while Sera regained control of her emotions.

"It's just bollocks, you know?" she said, releasing me. "Why'd they have to go and do it?"

"Because they're criminals, Sera," Cassandra said, putting a friendly hand on her shoulder. "That's what criminals do. Don't worry about them."

"Shove off, yeah?" Sera said, throwing Cassandra's hand off her shoulder and walking away. "He was just a kid, look at him. And he was trying to surrender."

Cassandra opened her mouth to try to fit the rest of her foot in, but I shook my head at her and she sighed and went back to her horse. Aclassi, however, spoke up.

"Lady Pentaghast, I hope you never find out what forces people to live like that."

"We should head out," I said, letting his sentiment hang in the air for a moment. "Don't take their things, maybe some other travelers can use them."

I rode point with Krem after that. (He insisted I start calling him "Krem" after we'd spilled blood together). By dusk we had made it up to where the Imperial Highway hits the lake, and there was a small inn there that had two rooms. We split the rest of the journey into two parts: first to the inn at the Lake Calenhad Docks, and then an early start to Lace's last known camp, where we moved from roads to trails, although much less treacherous ones than they have in the Frostbacks, or at least that's what Krem said.

That last day was quiet. We broke camp early and headed north along the banks of the Long River towards the Storm Coast. We had scheduled four hours for the trip to Lace's camp, and when we saw the lovely, flat riverbank trail, I thought that might halve our time on horseback. Then we saw the bears.

Ferelden bears are their own special sort of awful. They tend to stay off of trails, but they fish in rivers, and we must have looked like a freshly-packed provisions shipment riding along their hunting ground. One particular group of bears was the worst. There were three of them, with one much bigger than the others. Krem hung back with Vivienne and Sera, who were peppering all three of them with aerial fire. Cassandra and I were doing our best to keep them engaged, but we were quickly overrun, and Krem was valiant in his defense of our squishier compatriots. Vivienne refreshed our barrier, Cassandra and Krem steeled themselves, and Sera actually climbed a fucking tree to get better aim on the bastards. Me? I was bloody useless even with the slightly upgraded Dragon daggers, (they could stab into that bear hide, but not slice through) so I spent a lot of time acting as bait for Krem and Cassandra. I would put in a poke into a knee tendon when a bear was upright, the bear would roar and try to swipe for me, I would duck away from the lumbering thing, and Krem would hack a chunk out of its belly. The big one was the toughest son of a bitch I'd ever fought in my life. The hide was so thick it almost felt like cured leather, the claws were the size of throwing knives, and it was just so strong - at one point it brought a tree down.

"These are tough, but not as tough as the Orlesian Great Bear," Cassandra remarked as she brought her shield to meet one of the bear's swipes.

"I've had the pleasure myself," Krem replied. "It took the whole company by surprise while we were headed to a job in Sahrnia. You should have seen the look on the Chief's face - thought Satinalia - Herald, watch out!"

That wouldn't be the last time Krem saved my life, but it was the first. I looked up to see the bear lunging at me with its maw just in time to back-flip out of the way. Unfortunately, I hadn't looked before I leapt, so I was a bit woozy landing head-first into a tree.

"Seeker!" Krem shouted.

"Go! I've got it!" Cassandra replied, engaging the bear.

And that was the last thing I remembered for a while.

* * *

"Shit," I said, looking around. I was in a standard Inquisition tent at a standard Inquisition campsite, and it was pissing rain outside. I tried to sit up but felt a pair of hands on my shoulders easing me back onto the bedroll.

"Steady on, Your Worship," a shem with a thick Ferelden accent said. I did as he said, until I remembered why I'd set out on the road in the first place.

"Are Lace and them okay?" I asked.

"I'm right here, _Salroka_," Lace said, and that was the best thing I'd heard in a while.

"Thank the Maker," I replied, and Lace came over to my bedroll, gave me a soft kiss, and sat down on the ground next to me.

"I've got it from here, Stitches," she said to the shem. "Let Lady Cassandra know she's awake and alert."

"What happened?" I asked. "Last thing I remember is jumping out of the way of a large bear and knocking into a tree.

"Mostly a lot of Nessa being Nessa," Lace replied. "Apparently, you tried to get right back into the fight, but you couldn't really walk straight. Vivienne froze you in place and put a barrier around you, then Sera - who's lovely, by the way - took your knives and guarded you, while Cassandra and Krem finished off the bear."

"Okay…"

"Oh yes, there's more," she continued with a chuckle. "You then tried to fight a tree while continuing to stumble around. That's when Sera hit you with the knockout powder, and Vivienne gave you a sleeping spell. Your party arrived here about an hour ago, so all told you were asleep for about five hours."

I put my hands over my head and groaned.

"Krem called his mercenary company, because they have a healer. That's who Stitches is. Nice group of people."

"Do I still get to kill Vints, or did we miss that part?"

"They're not due for another two days," Lace replied. "So, you've got plenty of time to rest up and get better. Don't try to push it, Nessa. Those head injuries can screw you up bad if you don't take time to heal."

Lace took my hand as I closed my eyes for a moment. Then she kissed my forehead and made her way out of the tent.

"Sweet dreams, _lethallan_," she said as she was leaving.

* * *

It was still raining the next morning when I woke up to an empty stomach and a full bladder. Cassandra was on watch on a stool under an oiled tarp, and the campfire was under a much larger construction of tarp and rope and frame. What must have been the previous night's Nug Surprise was still keeping warm in the pot, and the condensed, grey slop was the best thing I'd eaten in days. There was room for a second under the watch tarp, so I joined Cassandra.

"I heard what happened to me out there. Thank you for keeping me safe."

"Of course, Your Worship," she replied. "It is no more than you have done for me in the past."

"I heard I was pretty out of it; how much of my dignity to I need to earn back?"

Cassandra laughed. "You may want to ask your friend Sera about that. She seems to have memorized your battlefield dance routine."

"That good, huh?"

"She will forget about it in a week, or never. One or the other. The important thing is that you are safe."

"I guess the Maker really is watching out for me," I chuckled.

"You are Andraste's Herald, Your Worship," Cassandra replied without a hint of amusement in her voice. "Of course He is watching out for you."

That gave me a moment's pause. Plenty of people have died from bear attacks, probably more than have survived. Did that mean that the Maker wasn't watching out for them? And was good fortune really the best way to see who the Maker favored?

"I'm not sure it's that easy. Wouldn't the Maker watch out for all of us?"

"Well, of course the Maker watches out for all of us, but you have been chosen to –"

"I'm still not sure I buy that chosen bit, Cassandra, but even if that's true, I'd like to think that any Maker worth worshipping would look out for all of us, not just His chosen ones, you know?"

Third watch is admittedly a bit of a rough time to talk theology, so Cassandra gave me a very noncommittal "I suppose" in reply and changed the subject quickly.

"I was thinking, Herald. It would make sense if you stayed here in camp another day. I will take Enchanter Vivienne, Sera, and Scouts Harding and Charter to look for our missing soldiers."

"Leave Charter here to help us defend the camp," I said, "but I agree. I don't think I'm all the way recovered from hitting my head, and I'd rather not find out the hard way."

"Precisely," she replied, then took a thoughtful look at me. "You know, I think you're getting better at this, Your Worship."

"Better at what?"

"Being the Herald of Our Lady."

"You ripping my head off in the War Room helped," I said.

"Really?" she asked. "How so?"

"Honestly, you humiliated and scared the crap out of me at the same time. I was so backed into a corner that I just started making shit up. 'Cullen, do this. Josephine, do that.' So, thanks, I guess."

Cassandra broke up laughing, and I couldn't help joining her. We were both laughing when a very large, horned figure came up behind us."

"Maker's balls, who the fuck are you?!" I shouted, jumping three meters out of my skin and grabbing my daggers. I was met with another hearty laugh.

"Easy, killer," the Qunari said. "I just wanted to see where the brain trust of this Inquisition was headquartered. I'm The Iron Bull, commander of the Bull's Chargers. Cremisius Aclassi is my lieutenant."

I composed myself, sheathed my daggers, and stuck out my hand. "Nessa Ghilani. Pleased to meet you. This is Cassandra Pentaghast, Seeker of Truth and Right Hand of the Divine."

"You're the one they call 'Herald?'"

"That's me."

"Excellent. I wanted to let you know: those Vints are supposed to make landfall tomorrow around noon. So, you and your men have some time to rest up for that. But before we start kicking ass, you gotta know something about me."

"What's that?"

"You ever heard of the Ben Hassrath?" Bull asked.

"That's the Qunari espionage and intelligence order," Cassandra replied.

"Right, that's us. Well, there's more than that, but..."

"Us?" I asked.

"Yeah, that's the thing. The Qunari really don't like the giant hole in the sky with demons pouring out. But they do appreciate that you guys are trying to fix it. So, I've been ordered to join your organization, get close to the leadership, and send reports home about how things are going."

This was very much beyond my paygrade. It's one thing to check out a merc company to see if they're any good at bashing skulls in, it's a whole other thing to say 'Sure, Mr. Giant Spy Guy, come on in!'

"Do you mind if I call you 'Bull?'" I asked.

"Just don't call me late to drinks and we're fine."

"Thanks. So, em, Bull, that's an awful lot you just threw out there. You and your men are still down the hill? Cassandra and I are going to talk, and I'll meet you at your camp."

"Totally get it," Bull replied. "I'll see you there."

Once he'd left, I turned to Cassandra to discuss.

"I don't like it," she said. "These Qunari always seem to be one bad decision away from launching another invasion."

"I know," I replied. "But he's serious about them wanting to help. And I still remember when Kallian came back to the Alienage right before the Landsmeet. She had a Chantry sister, an apostate hedge witch, and a dwarf who couldn't stop belching. And she'd left the future King of Ferelden back at the ranch."

"True, but none of these were Qunari."

"Yeah, she ditched the Qunari in Haven after he challenged her leadership one too many times. But that was because he didn't like women, not because he did the whole Qun thing."

"It is useless for us to make this decision regardless. We should ask Leliana for her input back at Haven."

"Makes sense to me," I replied. "But I think I can trust him enough to kill some Vints and hear him out."

"Just – be on your guard, Herald."

Cassandra's party left in search of our missing soldiers right after breakfast, while I tried unsuccessfully to make myself busy in camp. It took a little cajoling, and at one point I actually had to pull rank, but the junior scouts eventually allowed me to make myself busy with dishes and policing the area. The rain wasn't letting up for anything, so after a simple lunch of field rations, the boys - there were four of them, all signed up together, all from the Highever alienage - walked me through some of the weapons care they'd learned. The soldiers had been fortunate enough to loot a few weapons, among them some daggers. None of them were that much better than what I'd already had, but there was one pair that had a small, ridiculously sharp blade at the end of their grips, and the boys helped me get those onto my own pair.

When Cassandra's party came back alone, I knew the news about our missing soldiers couldn't be good. Then I saw the look on Lace and Sera's faces…

"It was shite, Ness. They friggin left 'em there for us to find."

"Do we know who 'they' are?" I asked.

"They call themselves the Blades of Hessarian," Vivienne replied, "and hopefully that level of hubris will be their downfall. They've also left a calling-card." Vivienne held up a green and white amulet.

"It's a challenge marker," Lace said, jaw clenched and tears set aside. "The wearer marks themselves as coming to challenge the group's leader. Those were my men they slaughtered, and I'd like to be the challenger, Your Worship."

I still wasn't entirely sure who put me in charge, or why Lace was using an honorific for that matter, but I went with it.

"Of course, Lieutenant," I replied. "Take a team, though - I don't trust these bastards to play fair. And if you don't mind, let's wait until after we're done with the Bull's Chargers. I'd like to come along. They were my men, too."

Lace looked up at me after I'd said that, and then the biggest smile broke over her face.

"I'd be honored, Your Worship," she fairly whispered in reply. I looked at her with a grin of my own, blushing and running my fingers through my hair. We stood there for a bit, looking at each other, before Sera did what she does best.

"Oh, come off it you two. That's just too friggin cute."

Lace and I had the good sense to look embarrassed before Cassandra grunted in disgust, and the moment had truly passed.

* * *

"Chargers! Stand down."

There was no battle to speak of; it was more of a slaughter. The Bull's Chargers were a dozen of the finest mercs I'd ever seen, cutting through those Vint bastards like a hot knife through butter. I had to work to make sure I got enough kills of my own in, and I only wound up with two. But I made them count.

"Denerim, right?" Bull asked, walking over to me with a chuckle.

"Yeah," I replied, still a bit out of breath. "Your Ben Hassrath tell you that?

"Yup. But I'd've guessed the way you gutted those mages before killing them; it looked like it was personal."

"You know what they did to my Alienage, right?"

"I do," he said. "And I get it. But these were scouts, really, not hardened soldiers. When you face the real thing, you're going to need to keep your head screwed on straight. You're a good kid, and I don't want to see you get killed."

"Thanks, Bull. I'll keep that in mind. As far as I'm concerned, you and your men are hired, but I want you to meet with Leliana first to go over the whole spying thing. If she's not comfortable with the terms, we can't have you."

"Wouldn't have it any other way," he said. Then he shouted to Krem, "Break out the casks! We just got hired."

A cheer came up from the Chargers, who were cleaning up after the battle, looting what salvageable stuff they could. I was able to find a bit of gold, and the mages' robes had a fine silk that Mum could use, but other than that, there wasn't much.

Krem had the good sense to keep the casks sealed until we got back up the hill to the campsite. It was early evening when we got there the fire was roaring, the stew was hot, and the Inquisition and Bull's Chargers spent the next few hours trying to show each other who could have the better time.

"Herald," Cassandra said, a bit further into her cups than any of us had ever seen her, "whatever becomes of you and Lieutenant Harding, your dropping everything and racing out here to find her when you heard she might be in trouble was an act of romance that I didn't think you had in you."

"I'm not sure whether to be more offended that you didn't think I have any romance in me, or that you think I'd put off going to Redcliffe to save one person," I replied, and since I was laying off the wine because my head was still a bit woozy, my sober voice stood out like a sore thumb.

"I apologize, then, Your Worship. That did not come out how I meant it.

"It's fine, Cassandra. But as pretty as she is, I didn't run up here like a Mabari with its tail on fire just for her. She's part of the Inquisition, and she had a group of our soldiers with her. I've always taken care of my people."

"She's right, Seeker," Sera slurred. "Nessa's always been the one to, um… What's that thing you always do?"

"Is this something I want to know?" Lace asked.

I laughed. "Nothing like that. She's just talking about how I never leave any of my people in trouble."

"Ooh, right!" Sera shouted. "Tell 'em about the time – you know…"

"Tell 'em what, Sera?" I asked.

"You know, _That Story._"

"Oh, right. _That Story_. Do you guys want to hear about why this kid Taedor always had kind of a crush on me?"

There was an enthusiastic assent from everyone around the campfire, so I began:

"Taedor was only nineteen, but he'd been an invaluable member of our crew for going on three years. He barely knew which end of a dagger to hold, but he was charming, witty, could think on the fly, and had one of the best natural minds for strategy I've ever met. He was also drop-dead gorgeous, even by elven standards, and was able to get into a mark's smallclothes, leave the next morning (if not the next hour), and still get a bouquet of flowers thanking him for the experience, sometimes even after the mark knew they'd been had. If he'd had any stomach for the wetwork (or the Orlesian language), he'd have been a natural bard. Lucky for me and my team he was a lover, not a fighter, and had no gift for languages, because for both gathering intel and providing distractions, there was no one better in Denerim.

"Harvestmere, 9:39 Dragon was a particularly lean month. Some enterprising individual from a rival Carta front (the Carta's business model included sponsoring competing lyrium-running operations) thought it would be a good idea to cut lyrium with deep mushroom and deathroot powder, both to save money and to give lyrium a hallucinogenic kick, and that miscalculation resulted in the untimely demise of about a quarter of the lyrium addicts in the city. Tegrin tried to cover for us as much as he could, but the Carta doesn't like to see product languishing in warehouses. So, after they decided they were going to start charging us for it up front, we were forced to branch out into petty theft. And, Taedor being Taedor, he was the first to volunteer.

"One of Taedor's favorite marks was a young, single guardswoman of minor nobility and negligible common sense: an ideal target. She had a lovely collection of jewelry under lock-and-key that would buy us enough lyrium to make it through to the next round of Templar retirements, so by Drakonis there would be a new crop of ex-Templars in withdrawal, and business would return to normal."

"That's awful!" Cassandra shouted. "Did you actually plan your business this way?"

"Hey now," I replied. "I'm not the one who made getting hooked on lyrium a job requirement." Cassandra shook her head and I continued.

"Anyway, the plan was this: Taedor was to wine-and-dine the guardswoman, take her to bed, and then open the door for me once she was asleep (and Taedor assured me that she always fell asleep). I would then pick the lock, grab the jewels, and ride off into the sunset.

"I swear it sounded like a good idea at the time.

"What we'd not counted on was the guardswoman inviting a colleague by to share Taedor's talents. And we'd certainly not anticipated that the guardswoman and her colleague were themselves lovers, nor that they were both seeing Taedor on the side, under different names…"

"Bullshit." Cassandra finally said, wobbling to her feet. "You did no such thing. I have heard this story before; I believe it involves a pickpocket instead of a lyrium runner, and his name is Gerard, not Taedor."

Sera started laughing hysterically, and I followed soon after. Bull's eyes opened wide, and then he let out a fearsome guffaw, while the rest of the camp looked at each other to see who was getting the joke.

"Pay up, Nessa," Sera said. "I told you she reads it."

"Reads what?" Cassandra exclaimed while I tossed Sera a sovereign.

"You got the characters' names right," I replied, "but that story was from the Randy Dowager's Summer 9:40 issue. Four scarves fluttered out of five."

"Ugh," Cassandra huffed, and marched back to her tent to the sound of uproarious laughter.

"The real story, unfortunately, doesn't have all that much pizazz," I continued. "Tae – who really was gorgeous and really was shit with a knife – was a little late coming back from a drop, so I went looking for him through those damned back alleys Denerim has between the Market and The Pearl. He'd been jumped by two lyrium addicts who knew he was carrying, but didn't know he was carrying the raw stuff. I managed to track the bastards down, but they'd already opened the box, and were too far gone to help."

"You really handled raw lyrium?" one of Bull's dwarven men asked.

"It's not difficult if you know how," I replied. "And knowing how is a trade secret, so don't ask. Gorim was Mining Caste back in Orzammar; he figured it out."

"He sure as shite wasn't Merchant Caste," Sera interjected.

"No," I replied. "But I'm glad he pretended to be a merchant in Denerim. He helped my mum and I pick up the pieces after the store in the market square was burnt down. And he gave me a way to make a few gold, because the Chantry pays fuck-all. He's a good man."

We drank and swapped stories well into second watch, the Chargers fitting in nicely with Inquisition scouts. The following day was a rest day for Inquisition personnel – hangovers and minor injuries were tended to, potions restocked, weapons cleaned up, armor patched together – but the Chargers headed off to Haven to meet with Leliana.

* * *

I gave Lace complete control of the mission to take out the Blades of Hessarian. The plan was to engage them at dawn, so they'd be most vulnerable, and Lace would start firing as soon as the leader was identified, not waiting on any ceremony. It was a two-hour hike to their fort, so Lace and I, along with Cassandra and Vivienne, set out halfway through third watch. Lace promised that the bears wouldn't be a problem, as Ferelden bears tend to be diurnal, and we were going to stick to the beach as much as we could. What was a problem was Shemlen Night Blindness, so Lace took point while I kept up the rear, and Cassandra and Vivienne tried not to get lost.

The fight itself was anti-climactic, to say the least. We arrived at the gate, Lace wearing the amulet and me with my glowing left hand prominently in view. They were obviously expecting us and announced that "The Herald of Andraste has come with a challenge." Then this man standing 2 meters tall and at least as wide came out of a hut with a battle axe asking for "this Herald who would challenge me," and Lace let her arrow fly right through his eye socket, felling him like a tree.

A cheer went up from the Blades as they assembled to pledge themselves to the Inquisition. A rather non-descript human who looked like the second in command came up to me and explained the terms. The Blades were loyal to whoever knocked off the previous chief, which is why they were all kneeling in front of me.

"Hold it a moment," I said as they were beginning some kind of ritual mass pledge. "I didn't do anything but walk in the gate. The woman who beat your former master is Lieutenant Harding, so she's who you're pledging yourselves to. And as it was her men you assholes slaughtered to bait me over here, I suggest you make that pledge a good one."

They said their pledge, we confiscated their weapons, and marched them and their belongings back to our camp, binding them and keeping them as prisoners. Things were quiet that night, as the sight of the prisoners kept our murdered soldiers foremost in our thoughts. We were due to break camp the next morning, so most of us called it an early night. Charter and Rector were on watch duty and were kind enough to hot-bunk it in my spot in our field team tent, to give Lace and I a bit of privacy in theirs. I'm not usually one for pulling rank, but this had been an emotional trip, and Lace and I both really needed some 'us time.'

"You know, this is kind of like a field promotion," I told her after we'd set things up in the tent. "You've got your own company who just pledged their lives to you; doesn't that make you Scout Captain Harding?"

She laughed. "That's why I'm sending them to Nightingale. We'll see if she can make something out of them. If not, maybe the Commander can use them to stock the trebuchets."

It was tougher to make small talk than I'd thought it would be. Last nights together are always a little awkward, even if you know (or are pretty sure) you're going to see each other again. Time together was precious, though, so we persevered.

"Where to next?" I asked.

"Hopefully your bedroll," she replied with a smirk.

"Am I not supposed to be courting you? I know I'm just alienage trash and all, but I'm pretty sure that's not what courting means."

"One, stop calling yourself that," she said, "and two, I don't want to think about my next assignment. I miss you. But Rector and I are heading to Redcliffe next. Charter's headed back with the prisoners."

"Well, at least I'll be able to see you there. We're headed there with a company of Cullen's men as soon as we get back to Haven."

"It was nice of you to come out here to find us," Lace said after a moment. I wish it had gone differently."

I cupped her face and gave her a soft kiss. "I honestly didn't come out here just for you," I said, "but seeing your face when I came to was such a relief."

"After they brought you in here unconscious, seeing you come to was a relief," she replied. I chuckled for a bit before peeling off my boots and leather trousers and climbing into the bedroll.

"Did you want to meet my parents?" Lace asked after dousing the lantern.

"Come again?"

"You know I'm from right near Redcliffe, right? I told you that when we first met – I grew up a few kilometers away from the Crossroads. I'm going to be staying with them for a couple of days before we start our operation."

I shook my head. "Can't. We're really heading straight there. Besides, I have to keep my head in the game – this may be the most important mission we've gone on yet and meeting your parents will have me in knots. Speaking of which, you haven't been back to Haven since I started courting you; are you a little nervous about meeting Mum?"

Lace shot me a withering look that had me drop that question like a bad habit.

"Fine, I won't press it. Didn't you say something about trying to get into my bedroll?"

"What happened to courting?" Lace said with a laugh.

"Oh, right," I replied. "I asked Andraste. I'm the Herald, remember? She said it was fine."

"Thank her for me next time you see her. And budge over, then."


	14. The Situation has Changed

Mum was pleased when I told her I had two weeks’ turnaround before heading out into the field again. We made the most of it, finally being able to squeeze in some family time. Sera showed up for dinner one of those nights, and for a moment it felt like home, more so than it ever did when we actually lived at home. It was a strange thing. The alienage never really felt like home to me; it was a place I was trying to escape. And now I had escaped it, and Haven didn’t feel like home. Haven felt like our base of operations.

Mum’s cabin felt a bit more like home than the rest of Haven, though. She’d been able to bring some things from home when she left, which, in that small space, made it cramped, but familiar. All I had were clothes for a week. My cabin felt like a bigger version of the sisters’ cells in the Chantry, with a bed, an armor stand, a footlocker, and Grand Cleric Perpetua’s old lute. I suppose if I’d’ve had time, I could have learned how to play the thing.

There was plenty of Inquisition business to take care of. Thanks to a tip from Bull, Josephine and Leliana somehow arranged it that the Duchy of Lydes was indebted to the Inquisition, Sera and the Jennies upended a noble’s entire life, pulling up some dirt about him, and Cullen sent his men into a nearby cave to dig up some dragon bones or something. Leliana gave us a whole rundown on those caves from her time saving the world with Kallian, and I just hope they stayed safe.

We had a few visiting dignitaries, and my cozy evenings with Mum were broken up by formal dinners in the VIP mess, or at least as formal as we could make it in Haven. One evening I was called over because we were receiving two dignitaries from Denerim. One was a Ser Griffith, who managed to turn everyone’s stomach with vivid descriptions of his heroism during the defense of Denerim before the Archdemon was killed. The other was a bit more familiar.

“_Andaran atish’an, Hahren._”

“_Aneth ara_, Your Worship,” Shianni answered with a gracious bow. “So, how’ve you been? Anything interesting going on in your life?”

“Oh, you know, the usual,” I smirked. “Family meals, causing trouble, slaying demons.”

“It is so good to see you’re okay, Nessa,” she then said, hugging me tightly. “The whole Alienage is really proud of you."

“How are things back home? Has there been any trouble with the shems?”

“Actually, it’s gotten better,” she replied. “Something about Alienage women saving all their asses twice in ten years, I guess. Speaking of, is there any way I can get you to stop by when you have some down time?”

“Sure, if that ever happens. I’m headed to Redcliffe in a bit to sort out this mess with the mages, see if we can get some of them to help with the breach.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s a real clusterfuck, eh? King Alistair is putting up Arl Teagan in the Royal Palace, and they’re both about ready to march on the city. I think that’s why Griffith came along.”

“Are you here for that, too?” I asked.

“No, I’m here checking in on one of our two favorite daughters – the one who’s not out Maker knows where on some mad quest.”

“Um…”

“Okay, the one whose mad quest is mostly in Ferelden – how’s that?” she laughed.

We sat for a bit, catching up. Cyrion was doing well, but worried about his daughter. Soris and his shemlen wife hadn’t been back since the wedding, Alarith’s shop continued to do well, and there was still no new Grand Cleric, so the Chantry wasn’t hiring any maids, which was putting a drain on the economy.

“Are the Denerim mothers blaming me for any of this?” I asked.

“Not out loud,” Shianni replied. “But while most of the shems are going out of their way to make nice, the Chantry is barely talking with us.”

“Hopefully this will all settle down once we close the breach,” I replied. “At least they’ll see we’re good for something.”

Shianni had meetings with Josephine and Leliana scheduled and couldn’t stay long at all. But she did make time to visit with Mum, and the other elves were happy to see an Alienage elder around.

I made time to check in on the Chargers, who were settling in to Haven. They set up camp right outside the town walls, near the blacksmith. Bull and Krem had them well disciplined, to the point that they knew better than most how to have a good time, but never got out of hand. I asked him about his agreements with Leliana, and he just nodded and said, “it’s taken care of.”

* * *

By the time our band set off to Redcliffe, we were ready. Harritt had outfitted me with much better daggers after he heard of my unfortunate encounter with the bears on the Long River. He and Threnn had also sourced new armor schematics, and Cassandra and I were the beneficiaries of those, and Varric somehow secured himself a smart grey leather tunic that I didn't ask him about. Cullen had used the extra time to identify and train a company specifically for the trip, putting them under Captain Rylen’s command. The Chargers were coming along as support. Our team included me, Cassandra, Varric, and Vivienne, to make sure we had as much bargaining gravitas as we could assemble.

(Sera was happy for the time off, to be honest, as she was under the impression that she was making headway with Maryden the Minstrel. I didn’t have the heart to tell her otherwise.)

On horseback, the trip took a full day. We spent the night in the Inquisition camp at the Crossroads, which had been well provisioned and build up to the point where it was nearly a forward base of operations in the Hinterlands. Riding up the Redcliffe Road, we were bathed, fed, in new armor and new weapons, looking and feeling good. Vivienne and Cassandra were giving me a crash course in negotiation etiquette, and Varric filled in the time with a few stories about himself and his brother. And there actually wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

When we got to the town gates, however, there was a rift. Five of Rylen’s men had been doing their best to keep it at bay, but without closing it, there’s only so much anyone can do about it. We saw it and got to work. I’d dispatched a terror demon and a wisp before it caught me. Then, suddenly, it was like I was walking with my shoes weighted down. I was moving at about a third my normal speed, and everything around me had sped up immensely, giving other wisps the opportunity to hit me at will. I tucked and rolled out of the way of where the hits had been concentrated, and things sped back up to normal for me. During the second wave, I was hit by another one of those, and then after I rolled away, everything else had slowed down, and I had sped up. That was more disconcerting than dangerous, but I was altogether done with that rift, and more relieved than usual when it was sealed.

“What the fuck was that?” I asked one of Rylen’s men, a human woman about my age who seemed to be in charge.

“Don’t rightly know, Your Worship,” she replied. “We’d heard of these rifts, but never seen one that could do that.”

A bit distracted, we carried on. Some of Rylen’s men had gone on before us as a retinue, and as we rode in, they marched alongside. Our scouts told us to meet the Grand Enchanter in the Gull and Lantern, which seemed a strange place for a formal meeting, but we went with it.

“See that statue? I’ve some stories about her,” Varric said as we passed a griffon statue dedicated to Kallian.

“I bet I know better ones,” I countered with a smile. This felt good. The last time I’d come into Redcliffe with a team, I’d been a smart-mouthed kid with a chip on her shoulder the size of the Anderfels. This time I was riding in with a retinue, in a place of honor, among peers.

The Grand Enchanter met us at the bar, flanked by two other mages. If she had seemed nervous in Val Royeaux, here she seemed frightened, and I’m pretty sure she audibly gasped when she saw Vivienne.

“Fiona, how are you, my dear?” Vivienne asked. “You look positively shaken. What’s wrong?”

“Vivienne, Your Worship, Seeker Pentaghast, I –”

“Nothing for the loveable dwarf?” Varric interjected.

“I, em…”

“Grand Enchanter,” Cassandra said, “we have just now arrived ourselves, and it’s still early enough in the day. If someone from your staff is missing, or you would like more time, we can certainly begin talks after supper.”

“No, that is not… I’m just taken a bit by surprise here,” Fiona replied. “As much as I’m honored by your presence, I wasn’t expecting you at all.”

“You literally invited us,” I replied. “In Val Royeaux, just as we were leaving town. There was a whole company of Inquisition soldiers with us, under the command of Captain Rylen.

“Herald,” Vivienne asked, “are you absolutely certain this is who you were speaking with?”

“One hundred percent, Vivienne,” I replied. “She invited us here to negotiate to have mages follow us back to Redcliffe and help seal the breach. I suggested she send that request through Josephine, but she said I was the one she wanted to reach, so I delivered the message myself. Grand Enchanter, we had this conversation.”

“Be that as it may,” Fiona said, “whatever has brought you here, the situation has changed. The mages have pledged themselves to the service of the Tevinter Imperium. We no longer hold the right to negotiate how our talents are used.”

Vivienne and Cassandra had some sharp words for the Grand Enchanter, but I was stunned. She had to know better than that. She’s an elf. Indentured, my ass. Our people have been enslaved in Tevinter for millennia. That’s who she threw her lot in with? The people who ransacked the alienage, herding us into cages like cattle? The people who stole my father?

“My friends! This is a surprise, but such a pleasant one.”

The magister never had a chance to finish that thought. I had crossed the ten meters to where he entered, pulled out my daggers and run him clean through before he started his next sentence. There was a young man behind him who’d taken off running, but I didn’t give chase.

“There will be no more slaves to Tevinter!” I shouted, standing on a chair. “Mages, if you want your freedom, follow the Inquisition to the Crossroads! If you want to stay loyal to Tevinter, follow my dagger to the fucking void!”

The tavern was in an uproar, but there was little fighting. One of the mages standing by Fiona shot a bolt of lightning at me, but Vivienne had surrounded me with a barrier about the moment my dagger ripped through the magister, and Cassandra dispatched him quickly with her sword. One closer to me pointed her staff in my direction, but I was able to take her out before the spell hit her lips.

When we got outside, things started to get dicey. Varric had let our retinue know what had happened, and one of them sent a message to Captain Rylen. I made a less belligerent version of my announcement in the square, and a good many mages fell in line with us. Unfortunately, a good many more took off running, and by the time Rylen’s men had gotten to us, they were back with about 80 Tevinter soldiers in fancy, shiny armor. Add in the Chargers and the mages we’d picked up, and there were about 150 of us and 120 of them. We had the more experienced mages, but they had the more experienced soldiers. Advantage: Inquisition, but it was hardly a sure thing.

Both groups stayed huddled, waiting for the other to make the first move. The soldiers moved into ranks, the mages behind them. I called over Cassandra and Rylen.

“How do we get a message to them that if they just fuck right back off to Tevinter we’ll let them leave and there won’t be a bloodbath?” I asked.

“I can take care of that, Your Worship,” Rylen replied. “We’ve got men just for that purpose.”

“Will they be safe?”

“That’s up to the honor of the Tevinters. The rules of engagement are that our messengers will ride over with a banner. The enemy are supposed to send their own messengers to meet them. Messages are carried back to leadership on either side, and the leaders may or may not meet themselves.”

“That’s – surprisingly civil,” I said. “I wish us criminals had a code like that, we’d lose fewer people.”

Rylen laughed. “Perhaps when this is all over, Your Worship, you could be an example to your fellow smugglers.”

For her part, Cassandra was too upset even to grunt at that. She simply looked at me and seethed.

“When this is all over, should we survive the day, we will discuss your actions, _Herald_.”

“Fine,” I replied, having no desire to get into it with Cassandra at that moment.” “Captain, have your messengers tell the Tevinters that we want to work out an agreement to avoid a bloodbath here.”

The messengers were sent, and for a few tense minutes, there was dead silence on the battlefield. The Tevinter leadership followed protocol, and our messengers came back telling us that their leadership would like to meet. Cassandra, Rylen and I went to meet two of the Tevinter soldiers half-way between the two small armies. The one with the fancy epaulets looked at Rylen, then at Cassandra, before noticing my hand.

“Your Worship,” he said, nearly as smarmy as the magister I’d killed, “certainly we can move past this miscommunication like civilized people.” The look he gave my ears as he said ‘civilized’ didn’t give me much reason to be gracious, but I had a plan.

“Okay,” I said, as coolly as I could, “here’s how it’s going to go. I’m going to offer the mages one more chance to follow us. Then you and as many mages as want to be your chattel are going to get the fuck out of Ferelden as quickly as possible, and I won’t send a message to King Alistair asking him to hurry his troops along. They’ve been mobilized already and can be here in three days. You know damn well that you can’t take down us and them, too.”

That was a generous offer on our part, and they knew it, conceding quickly. We followed the Tevinters over to their side, and Rylen and Cassandra watched my back while I addressed the mages.

“Last chance, folks,” I yelled. “If you want to stay with these assholes, I won’t stop you. If you want your freedom, follow the Inquisition. We have no circle and our former Templars are no longer loyal to the order. If that sounds good, follow me to Haven. If not, follow them back to Tevinter.”

That deal had swayed a few of them, and by the time all were accounted for, the Inquisition had gathered about two thirds of the mages that had been holed up in Redcliffe. Not as many as we’d hoped for, but enough. Hopefully.

* * *

We gave the Tevinters three days to pack up and leave Redcliffe Castle, and Rylen’s men went with them to ensure they didn’t take any souvenirs. Bull and his Chargers took over the tavern, while the four in our party found lodging in the Chantry, after closing another one of those strange rifts. And it was there that Cassandra dragged me into a small vesting room for our ‘discussion.’

“What in the Maker’s name were you thinking?!” Cassandra screamed. “We could have been killed. _You_ could have been killed, and without you the whole world falls to demons.”

“And with that son of a bitch alive we’re indebted to fucking Tevinter!” I shouted back. “Do you really think they were going to play fair? Did you think we would come to an understanding and they’d suddenly decide to help us for the greater good?!”

“But that’s not what happened, is it?” Cassandra continued. “You heard ‘Tevinter,’ saw red, and murdered a man in a rage. We cannot afford to have someone so reckless making decisions that affect the entire Inquisition this way.”

“Well that’s who the fuck you asked for, lady,” I replied. “You’re the one who told some lyrium-smuggling alienage trash to strap on her big-girl smalls and be the Herald of Andraste. And you, Leliana, Cullen, and every swinging dick back in Haven thinks I’m divinely called for this. If you’ve changed your mind about that, let me know. Otherwise, you can support me, help me, or stay the fuck out of my way!”

“We will discuss this further back at Haven,” Cassandra said, storming out.

I sat there, staring at the door for what felt like an hour, but was probably only ten minutes. The day had started out with so much hope, and then not three hours after we rode into Redcliffe, I had caused two armies to face off in the streets, almost sparking a catastrophic battle. I don’t know how long I sat there stewing over that, but after a bit I looked up to see Lace sitting with me. She wiped the tears off of my face with a handkerchief and kissed my forehead.

“All right, _Lethallan_?” she asked.

“Not really,” I replied. I took a deep breath and tried to sit up straight.

“I must look a mess.”

Lace smiled. “Your eyeliner is a bit smudged,” she said, and we chuckled. I was busy trying to compose myself, while Lace was busy being supportive. She was doing a much better job.

“This is now the second time I’ve done something brash, fallen on my arse, and you’ve had to pick up the pieces,” I said. “Are you getting sick of it?”

“I mean, it wouldn’t break my heart if I didn’t have to do that again,” she replied. “But that’s kinda who you are, you know? If I’m buying into the whole Herald of Andraste package, that comes along with it.”

“Can I just be Nessa right now?” I asked.

“Of course you can – what do you mean?”

“It’s just… never mind. I don’t want to discuss it right now.”

She gave me a look that said we were definitely going to discuss it later, but she let it go.

"_Lethallan_,” she said, holding my cheek in her hand, “I want you to come home with me for a few days. I know this is a little soon, and we're still getting to know each other and all, but I told my folks all about you when I visited them last week, you could really use the R&R, my mom makes the best ram-nug stew, and..."

She had me at ‘stew.’

"It's okay, _Salroka_," I said, putting my finger on her lips. "I get it. And you're sweet. And when we get back to Haven my mum is going to grill you anyway, so..."

"So, you'll come?" she asked, her face all lit up like the sun.

"Yeah, I'll come. You're right, I could use the rest."

* * *

Supper was an unsurprisingly tense affair, although the innkeeper’s relief at the Tevinters’ sudden departure was evident in the seared ram meat added to the barley and turnip stew. Afterwards, I just needed to find a quiet place, somewhere I could regroup. The Chantry Nave was crowded with scouts preparing to head back to the Crossroads, and I didn’t even want to talk to Lace just then, so I retreated to the side chapel to catch a moment’s peace, but peace wasn’t quick in coming. I lit one of the votive candles underneath a modestly sized statue of Andraste with a sword, and watched it flicker as I sat in the front row of pews.

“Look,” I said to the statue, getting up and pacing in front. “I don’t know what your deal is, but this is bullshit. The Blight, my father, the shop - and now this? You drag me into this clusterfuck, the shems tell me I need to make decisions, and I’m just supposed to be okay when I haven’t seen my father in ten years and Tevinter decides to take more slaves?”

I took a deep breath, as I’d begun to hyperventilate. Tears began to stream down my face as I continued.

“I’ve got half of these shems kissing my ass, and the other half calling me knife-ear. I’ve gotten us allies, recruited an entire fucking merc band, delegated authority, negotiated with people who would have crossed the street if they’d seen me coming three months ago, and they’re still not happy. It’s still not enough. It’s never, ever going to be enough!”

By this time, I was screaming at the statue.

“And you’re the one who called me, right? That’s what they all say. You’re supposed to have called me to this job, given me this thing on my hand, but instead you’ve done fuck-all standing there looking pretty in your statues with your swords and bowls

of fire, while I’m out here looking fucking Tevinter magisters in the face being expected to play nice. What exactly the fuck was I supposed to do? You’re supposed to know better! You’re Ferelden, you were a slave in Tevinter, fuck, you were even from Denerim! So, what do you got, _Bride of the Maker_? What load of crap are you trying to sell us in this Chant of yours?”

I walked over to the small lectern where the Chant was kept for services and opened it. It was the New Cumberland Version, (which wasn’t surprising, as the Ferelden Chantries had adopted it quickly) and my hand fell to the ninth chapter of the Canticle of Shartan.

_"Some among you wish to flee back to your masters,_

_To throw yourselves at their feet and ask forgiveness._

_You have left that path. It is already gone._

_Your feet can never again tread the dust of Vol Dorma.”_

“You are some piece of work, lady,” I said, slamming the book closed and re-taking my seat. I sat on that bench and seethed for a few minutes, but the heavy meal and heavier emotions caught up to me, and I curled up for a nap on the wooden bench. I’m not entirely sure how long I was out before Cassandra woke me.

“Herald,” she said, surprisingly gently, “There are two men here who were with the Tevinters, and one of them says he has some information for us regarding their presence here.”

“Okay, cool,” I said, wiping the crust out of my eyes. “Did you need me to clear out or something?”

“Not at all,” she replied. “You need to hear what he has to say, as it concerns you greatly. They asked if I would accompany them when he spoke with you.”

I chuckled at that. “Probably wise. Show them in, then, I guess.”

I recognized one of them as the young man standing beside the magister. I certainly wouldn’t have forgotten the other had he been anywhere near the fighting. He was absolutely resplendent in oiled back obsidian-black hair, a moustache styled up into a pair of curlicues, and eyes even prettier than Cullen’s. He sized me up, my puffy eyes and vague remnants of kohl eyeliner no doubt making the best of impressions. Apparently satisfied that he wasn’t putting his life in danger, he sat down in the pew behind me.

“Herald. What you did was abhorrent, but it was accidentally the correct move.”

My eyes ached from how hard I rolled them.

“Glad that’s sorted,” I replied. “Why don’t you go fuck off to Tevinter with the rest of them and let me get back to my nap, then?”

“Don’t worry, I will,” he said, his inflection dripping with scorn and condescension, “but first I want to tell you what his plan was. He was using time magic in a vain attempt at making sure you didn’t get that mark on your hand. After he was unsuccessful, he wanted to capture you and bring you to his master.”

“Who is this _master_?” Cassandra asked.

“My father was involved with a Tevinter supremacist cult,” the sickly one said. “They call themselves the Venatori. Their aim is to bring back the glory of the Imperium, and they’ve sworn allegiance to someone calling himself the “Elder One.” Many of the people you sent back are in this cult. They will regroup and try again after they get home.”

“And this is why you don’t trust Tevinters,” I muttered, but the pretty one heard me and snapped back,

“Excuse me?”

“I said, ‘this is why you don’t trust Tevinters.’ If you people can find a way to rationalize slavery, you’ll find a way to rationalize anything. Are we done here?”

Both men stood up and made their way out of the chapel, but the pretty one stopped and turned back towards me.

“Herald, I didn’t come here to make enemies. These Venatori are dangerous to all of Thedas, and exactly the kind of villainous nonsense that has shamed my country for ages. I want to help.”

I almost laughed in his face, but my jaw was too clenched with anger.

“You want to help?” I spat. “My father’s name is Varel Ghilani. He was abducted from the Denerim alienage and enslaved in 9:31 Dragon by a magister whose name I didn’t manage to catch. Find him and send him to Haven with ten years of back pay. Then we’ll talk about help.”

“I’m… I’m sorry,” he replied.

“Just get out,” I said, and sat down. The two Tevinters got the hint and left. Cassandra moved into my pew and sat down next to me. We both sat in a heavy silence, looking at the statue of Andraste, until she finally spoke.

“Nessa,” she said, touching my arm. “I am so sorry.”

“For what?”

“For so many things,” she replied. “First of all, while I don’t know whether it was judgement or impulse, you were 100% correct about the magister. We would not have been able to trust him. And you were probably right about those two men.”

“I don’t know if I trusted them or not. They just annoyed me.”

“Yes, well, regardless. Today’s events were terrifying, but if we had tried to negotiate with them, it would have been much worse.”

“Yeah, probably.”

“And I don’t know if you want to hear this now, but I am very sorry about your father. I also lost my parents at an early age. They were on the losing side in a rebellion against the king. I was seven, and my brother and I were shuffled off to live with my uncle, who worked as a Mortalitasi in the Grand Necropolis. Our uncle was a distant man, more devoted to the dead he surrounded himself with than with the children he suddenly found himself with. Anthony was all I had. When I was twelve, he was murdered right in front of me by a group of mages who wanted to use his dragon hunting skills as part of a ritual. It took a lot more than ten years for me to recover from that.”

“Cassandra, I –”

“I did not tell you that to gain your sympathy. I merely wanted to tell you that hearing about your father gave your actions some context, context I should have had before jumping down your throat.”

“Thank you,” I replied. “I know I don’t have your training, and…”

“Your Worship – _Nessa_,” she interrupted. “If I haven’t told you this yet, I apologize, but you are doing a wonderful job in an impossible position, and I am so very proud of you.”

This time the tears running down my face were ones of relief instead of anger. Cassandra pulled me into a warm embrace, and I sobbed into her padded cuirass while she stroked my hair.


	15. She's So Lovely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nessa meets the parents and gets some well-earned and much needed R&R.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brush your teeth after this chapter. It gets a little sweet. And thanks to my dear friend Sara Winters for helping me manage to make the Harding Residence something other than "The Burrow, but with dwarves."

About six hours after we left Redcliffe, I was sucking down my third and final health potion, thinking that if this is the way the Maker treats his Bride’s Herald, She should really consider filing for divorce. The way to Lace’s house was clear, they’d said. No rifts, no bandits, no skirmishing Templars or Mages, just a smooth road to the Crossroads, then a countryside path, then a bit of wandering in some woods that Lace knew like the back of her hand. So we decided to go alone, on horseback. Which meant that when we stumbled into three separate Mage-Templar fights ten minutes south of the Crossroads, we were desperately undermanned, but we survived, which is more than anyone can say about the Mages or Templars. Thank the Maker we had the good sense to make the trip wearing armor. When the rift showed up forty-five minutes after that, however...

“Nessa! Duck!” Lace called out. I did, and an arrow flew directly over my head. Good. I’d been trying to create enough room for Lace to use her bow rather than her knives, and it looked as though after the eighth demon this rift spit out, I was finally able to do that. Three nocked arrows later, and I was able to use my final bit of energy to slam the rift shut before falling to my knees.

“Nessa!” Lace called, dashing over to where I lay. I was okay, but I wasn’t going to be getting up any time soon. She put a soft kiss on my forehead, and collapsed right next to me. 

“I’ll be okay, _ vhenan _,” I said. “I just need a bit of a rest. Let’s just sit here for a minute, and then - shit.”

“What?”

“Where did the horses go?”

They had, apparently, been spooked by the rift and attendant demons, and run the other direction, proving that they were far more intelligent than either Lace or I. Too exhausted to do anything more than shake our heads at the loss of our means of transportation, food, water, and changes of clothes, we sat there for several minutes just staring into space.

“Did you just call me ‘_ vhenan _?’,” Lace asked.

“Is - is that okay?”

“Very okay,” she replied, grabbing my hand and kissing the back of it. “I wish some Dwarven terms of endearment had made it up from Orzammar.”

“What’s ‘_ Salroka _’ mean, then?” I asked.

“It means ‘friend,’ ‘buddy,’ ‘pal’ - something like that.”

“Is that how you see me? Because some of the things we’ve been up to aren’t things I’d be doing with a ‘buddy.’”

“Not hardly. It just seemed that if you were calling me _ ‘Lethallin,’ _”

“_Lethallan, _ ” I corrected. “Definitely _ Lethallan. _”

“My eyes are up here, Nessa.”

“Yeah, but your tits are there,” I replied.

“I’d reach over and smack you if I weren’t too tired, you lech.”

I made a half-hearted attempt at rolling away from her, but I wound up with my head in her lap, which was, all things considered, a much better place to be.

“Anyway, to get back to what I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted by your wandering eyes, I figured if you were calling me something in Elvhen, I could give you a bit of Dwarven in return.”

I struggled for a minute or two to attach a dirty joke to that before giving up. Meanwhile, my eyes had just closed a second, but in that time the sun had dropped nearly into the horizon.

“Shit,” Lace said, shaking me. “Nessa, wake up. We fell asleep, and it’s almost dark, and we really don’t want to be out here on foot after the sun goes down. There’s a camp up at the top of that lake, it’s about a kilometer over those rocks.”

Scrambling over the rocks was no fun, but we rolled into camp just as twilight was fading into night. There were two scouts and four support personnel at the camp, and every one of them snapped to attention as we walked in.

“At ease, folks,” Lace said, smiling, and they all seemed to exhale at once.

“Scout Lieutenant?” one of the scouts asked. Human boy, Ferelden, maybe 20 years old, if that, who was trying very hard not to look put-out by Lace’s punch-drunk giggles. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh, but it’s so cute when you say ‘left-tenant’ like that,” Lace replied. “Anyway, report, scout. What’s going on?”

“The name’s Vicar, ma’am. We heard of the trouble up in Redcliffe, but didn’t know that yourself and the Herald would be joining us. We have some Nug Surprise that’s just about ready and there’s room in the women’s tent, but we’re not really prepared to receive guests.”

“Vicar, we’re not here to inspect your camp, we’re here because we ran into some trouble on our journey and we need a place to sleep. Can you send someone with us to the lake so we can get washed up?” I asked.

“Absolutely, Your Worship, and we can clean your armor for you and the Lieutenant, too.”

“That sounds terrific, except our clothes took off with our horses, and it’s been a very long day, so if it’s all the same to you, we’ll just wash up, get some of that nug, and sleep.”

“As you say, Your Worship.”

Well, it wasn’t quite ‘as I said,’ because there was a bottle of rotgut whiskey from Abermaw left for us in the women’s tent to help us warm up from the lake, and by the time we woke up the next morning, our armor had been cleaned, including a polish on Lace’s breastplate, and our horses had been found with their saddlebags intact.

“Vicar, you are getting a fucking raise,” I said, patting my horse’s hindquarters. "Wait- I probably shouldn't have said that, but I am going to tell Nightingale about this."

"Tracking your horses was all Thresher's doing, Your Worship," Vicar said, pointing to an elven man who was standing by the potions table. "He said he could find them, so I took an extra watch and he went and did it.”

Thresher wasn’t wearing any _ vallaslin _, which meant his horse tracking skill probably didn’t come from hunting with a Dalish clan, but while I was staring at him trying to figure all that out, he answered my unasked question.

“Horse thief out of Amaranthine, Your Worship. We used to steal them by letting them loose then tracking them down.”

“Did your life of crime extend to bottles of rotgut whiskey?” I asked.

“Can’t put one past you, Herald. Got it in one,” he replied with a smile and a wink.

“Then I’m going to need to get you both raises,” I quipped, and Lace shot me a very pointed look. 

“What the Herald of our Blessed Lady Herself means is ‘thank you very much, gentlemen, and we’ll be happy to report to Nightingale on the kind attention we received here,’” she said, with just enough bite that I let it go. 

Breakfast wasn’t leisurely, but it also wasn’t hurried. The Hardings were only a two hour ride from the camp, so we didn’t need to be gone at daybreak, but we did want to get there. Of course, nothing about this trip had gone as planned, so I wasn’t at all surprised when Vicar showed up with a from Leliana. 

“Lace, we’ve got an errand to run still. Sorry.”

“No worries, we’re not really off duty. What’s the errand?”

“There’s a Grey Warden around here who Leliana wants us to question. Apparently most of them have disappeared since the Conclave blew up, and Leliana wants to see if those two things are related.”

“Oh, right. Sorry about that, Your Worship, that was me,” Vicar said. “But it is rather curious, innit? The timing, I mean.”

“It’s fine, Vicar. You were doing your job, and now we’ll do ours. It’s not far out of our way, and I’m sure there aren’t any Mages or Templars or demons or anything that… Oh for fuck’s sake, why do you two look like that?”

“There have, em, actually been a couple of bandits spotted in that area, Your Worship. This Warden - Blackwall’s his name - has been helping the local farmers out keeping them at bay.”

“Have you been helping them, too?” I asked.

“With just the two of us here, plus the four support staff? I’m not sure how we could, Your Worship.”

“Hearts and minds is also not what we’ve been recruited for. That’s kinda why we have you and your folks,_ Vhenan _,” Lace added, to the amusement of Thresher and the fellow with Vallaslin manning the potions station.

“What?” Lace asked, a bit put out at the snickering.

“Nothing, Scout Lieutenant,” Thresher answered. “It’s just - I’ve never heard that said in a Dwarven accent before.” 

“Well, I think it was perfect,” I said, and planted a soft kiss on her lips.

“Right, then,” Vicar said, “let’s get you two off before the rest of us start missing our sweethearts back home.”

We laughed and climbed onto our horses’ backs with what was left of our dignity and took off for Blackwall’s last known location.

* * *

The bandits that were terrorizing the farmers were hardened men who put up a fight. As for the farmers that Blackwall had trained, well, they did their best, but it was a good thing he, Lace, and I were there to help. As it was, the bandits were routed, the farmers got their stuff back, and Blackwall surprised them by releasing them from service to the Wardens.

“Wait - you conscripted them… for fun?” I asked.

“Not for fun,” Blackwall replied. “I did it so they would stand up for themselves, for their families, for their community. They realized they must stand or die, so they stood. It’s a lesson they’ll only have to learn once.”

“Still,” I replied, “that seems a little harsh. I have a friend in the Wardens, who I’ve only seen once in the 10 years since she was conscripted, and that’s when she came riding in to save our Alienage. So your guys thought they’d be leaving their homes and families, and then it was some kind of learning experience?”

“Regardless, it worked. Now, did you have a purpose in coming here, or did you just need to question my methods?”

“Right. Introductions. My name is Nessa Ghilani, and this is Scout Lieutenant Harding. We’re with the Inquisition, and we have some questions for the Wardens about what happened at the Conclave.”

“Were there darkspawn at the Conclave that we didn’t hear about?” Blackwall asked.

“No…”

“Then we didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“I get that,” I replied. “But then all of them but you mysteriously up and vanish about that same time. That’s odd. We’re not accusing anyone of anything, yet, but when odd things happen at the same time as the whole world goes to shit, people have questions.”

“And I have no answers for you.”

“Then I guess we’re done here,” Lace said, grabbing my arm and pulling me back towards the lake path. “Sorry to have wasted your time, Warden Blackwall.”

We didn’t get far before we heard him calling us back. An hour or so later, we’d recruited an actual Grey Warden, and we were finally on our way to Lace’s folks.

“You were downright cordial back there, Nessa,” Lace said after we left Blackwall at Vicar’s camp, “to a human and everything. Are you getting soft on me?”

I laughed. “He’s a Grey Warden. Kallian and King Alistair were the only ones who thought to look after the Alienage during the blight. They brought a whole squad of Dalish archers with them to stop a Darkspawn assault at our back gate, and that’s after they rescued us from the Tevinter slavers. Wardens are alright, even if they’re shems.”

* * *

The rest of the trip to Lace’s house in the Hinterland woods was blessedly uneventful, and we got there just as supper was ending. I knew we weren’t in the city, but even still I was surprised at just how much property they had, and how much of it was in use. There was a room for Helga’s tailoring work, a small shed out back for any inventory Jerrik was saddled with (which at that moment was 25 sheepskins, two crates of horseshoes, and a dozen boxes of nails), a spartan kitchen, a sitting room, two bedrooms, and a little house for the not-so-little mabari, Contessa. When I got there, I was immediately made to feel welcome, first by Contessa, who had me knocked arse over tits almost as soon as I could see the front door, then by Helga and Jerrik, who warmed up the stew (the Hardings eat a lot of stew), took care of the horses, got our things settled in Lace’s old room, and sat down to ask us about our travels. 

I should have known by the way Helga called me “Your Worship” that the pleasant domesticity wasn’t going to last. After supper, there were prayers. Then, in Lace’s room, we saw a copy of the Cumberland edition of the Chant of Light opened to the Canticle of Shartan. 

“Lace, I thought you said your folks weren’t religious.”

“They’re not,” she said. “Or, at least they weren’t. I have no idea what’s going on here.”

“Can we ask them in the morning?” I pleaded. “It’s late.”

“Of course, My Lady Herald,” she replied with a grin, taking my swat to her shoulder in stride.

I slept in that next morning, waking only to the smell of porridge and grilling sausages, and the sound of Lace grilling her mother. 

“You’re making her really uncomfortable with all this,” Lace said.

“Darling, the Herald of Andraste has come to our little house, did you think we were going to do nothing?”

“She doesn’t even believe she is that.”

“What do you believe she is?” Helga asked.

“I believe she is one of the kindest, fiercest women I’ve ever met, who’s doing the best she can living up to an impossible job she never asked for,” Lace replied, raising her voice.

“Ask your father what he believes, then. Because he saw her in action. He saw her close a rift up on the hill by Tyrdda’s Lover’s tree that had been terrorizing people, spitting out demons for weeks, then she ran off to find the Collins’s pet druffalo like she’d done nothing special.”

“That was an easy rift,” I answered, walking into the kitchen. “The one by the river nearly killed us three times over. But they’re all horrible, and I’m glad I could help out.”

“Good morning, Your Worship,” Helga said, and I thought she was going to drop into a curtsy before coming to her senses.

“Helga, please,” I said. “Lace is right. This whole thing makes me feel very uncomfortable, and more than anything, I need to be treated like a person, not a cause. I’ve been failing pretty badly recently at being a cause,” I continued, tears starting to well up, “so for a few days, I’d like to try to be a person, if that’s okay.” 

“Oh, _ Vhenan _,” Lace said, running over to me and pulling me into a hug. “You’re perfect.”

“I’m glad you think so,” I said, sniffling. “I’m not sure about the rest of the Inquisition, though.”

“Sod them, then,” Lace replied, squeezing me tighter. “I can’t think of anyone who’d be doing any better in your position.”

“Almost as if the Maker Himself had ordained it?” Helga asked, causing me to tense up.

“Mother, would you please?” Lace said. “Can’t you see? She really doesn’t need this right now.”

“Oh, alright,” Helga said. “But, er, Nessa, this isn’t a show for your benefit, my dear. There are a few of us from the area who’ve really taken what you’ve shown us to heart. We’ve started travelling to Redcliffe every week for Chantry services, and some of us are even thinking of tearing down that superstitious tree-”

“No! What are you thinking?” I asked. “That tree has been up there for ages. And Tyrdda’s _ Leaf-Eared _ Lover? Do you really think I of all people would want her tree cut down? She’s probably the only famous elf the shems never tried to destroy, and she’s a myth.” 

I took a deep breath, wiped my eyes, and continued. “Look, you want to be a good Andrastian? Go to your Chantry services; I’m sure they’re lovely, and I know a lot of people get a sense of peace there. Help folks in need; there are plenty of them around here. If you see the shems abusing elves, remember that Andraste went out of her way to help free us from slavery, and chose Shartan specifically to help her at her darkest hour. You’re already good people; you don’t have to change much. Just keep your community strong, help the folks around you when they need it, don’t let the elves be abused, and you’re doing plenty.”

By the time I was finished, Helga’s mouth was hanging open, and even Lace was looking at me funny.

“As you say, Your Worship,” Helga said, bowing her head and dipping all the way into a curtsy this time.

“Maker’s balls,” I muttered, and walked back to Lace’s room. I closed the Chant of Light (carefully - those things are worth hundreds of sovereigns), removed the Andraste icon from the wall, and buried myself under the covers, at least for a few minutes, until Lace came in with some breakfast.

“You’re not going to start with this stuff, too?” I asked her, not yet certain I wanted to emerge from my hiding place.

“I just have some breakfast, sweetheart,” she said. “It’s safe to come out.”

“You didn’t warm it up on a bowl of fire or anything, did you?”

She laughed. “No, just the usual.”

“What was that all about back there?” I asked. “I literally just told her to be nice to people, and then she treats me like some sort of prophet?”

“It sounds a whole lot different when it comes from you, _ Vhenan _. To be honest, it sounded a bit like a sermon you’d hear in the Chantry. Coming from a Herald instead of a priest, that’s kind of a big deal.”

“Can you at least ask her to stop with the bowing and the ‘Your Worship?’ And maybe your father, too, preemptively?”

“Already done, Nessa. I told them that the best way they could help would be to let you relax as much as possible - and showed them my orders to that effect.”

“Wait - you’re really being ordered to do this?” I asked.

“Oh, it’s a terrible burden, believe me,” she replied. “I have to visit my family, spend time with my girlfriend, sleep indoors on an actual bed. The horrors!”

“And they make you eat good food,” I added, my mouth half full of bread and blood sausage. “I’m going to have to tell Nightingale to increase your pay, too.”

Lace was mostly successful getting her parents to tone down the whole worship thing. We still sat with them for evening prayers, but they finally relented in calling me by my first name, and the food stayed amazing. Lace brought me by her neighbor’s to show me what tending sheep is like (or, at least what fooling around in the grass while Contessa looks after the flock is like), Jerrik and I had a very enlightening discussion on futures markets in commodities trading, at least until I mentioned how much it looks like what Gorim and Tegrin did with lyrium, and Helga, well, she asked if I could help her with the cooking one evening. She didn’t make that mistake again.

Going to visit the Hardings was a mission for the Inquisition. The objective was to secure some rest and refreshment for the Herald of Andraste, and as such it was wildly successful. I needed the time with Lace, I needed the time away from making decisions, time away from being the one great hope for peace in Thedas, and I’m glad that’s what I got, because the first thing we saw as we rode into Haven was Leliana, Josephine, Cullen, Cassandra, and that strange Solas guy waiting for us.

“Um, hi folks,” I said. Lace steered her horse closer to me and grabbed my hand. “What’s going on?”

When a group of people as battle-hardened and experienced as the five in front of me are afraid to open their mouths, it’s never a good sign. Two of Dennet’s stable-boys had come by to take our horses, so Lace and I dismounted, and I walked the group to the Chantry’s war room.

“Okay,” I said, closing the door behind us. “One of you is going to tell me what this is all about, right?”

Cassandra finally threw up her hands in disgust. “Fine. I will tell her. Your Worship, it seems as though not enough mages followed us from Redcliffe. We can’t seal the breach.”


End file.
